A Different World
by coffeewriter1
Summary: "The Last Battle done, but the world not done with battle." What will happen when our favorite Wheel of Time characters find themselves in a different world, one where battle looms? What choices will they make, and why? (Rated T for blood and WoT swears. No sex)
1. Chapter 1

Introductory Notes:

As a new member of the FanFiction community, it is a pleasure to read the visions of so many people's imaginations. However, I saw a lack. Though there are good LOTR and X-men crossovers, good LOTR and Avengers crossovers, and even good LOTR and Star Wars crossovers, I saw nothing good that combined LOTR and my other favorite series, the Wheel of Time. It is to remedy this lack that I write this story.

There is a reason I pick the characters I do, as will be seen later on. I am not perfect, and in many ways I am going off my imagination and memory. Leigh Butler's excellent reread of WoT on and my own study of Tolkien and his world did help me get a handle on the characters, but in some ways, I am still shooting in the dark, and am relying on other fans to correct any possible errors.

My world is the bookverse. I believe it is richer, and Tolkien's dialogue has no equal. So I apologize if you do not see your favorite movie scenes. You will just have to get over it. However, I will likely use some of the movie dialogue, as I love the wittiness of some of the characters. The time is about a year after Tarmon Gaidon in the WoT world and just before the Council of Elrond in LOTR.

Finally, thanks to Telcontar for his excellent story Its A Strange Coincidence and Dr Manhattan for his Avengers of the Ring series. If they can take on such projects, so can I.


	2. Chapter 2- Snatched Away

Intro- Worlds Apart

Perrin sat with his wife at their manor in the Two Rivers. After the Last Battle, they had taken up residence in Saldaea, taking up the Broken Crown and rebuilding the shattered country. However, they often traveled away to the Two Rivers and Emond's Field to recover and refresh themselves. Far away from court politics and factions, it was a chance to simply be husband and wife.

After an appeal to Elayne, Tam had been made Lord of the Two Rivers, but the legend of Perrin Goldeneyes never seemed to die out. Light, even the Women's Council tread lightly around him. The wolf dream was the only place where he seemed to be equal and complete, though he had not been there in some time.

He had torn himself away to work in the forge, shaping some ornamental scrollwork to take back to Saldaea with him. Faile always smelled scandalized and pleased by turns whenever he came in smelling of smoke. Scandalized, because kings did not work with metal, and pleased because he was doing the work for her and not Berelain. Though Faile and Berelain got along, Perrin always dreaded when the First visited. Even if outwardly, all was calm, Perrin could still smell the tension, like two cats about to fight. He tended to disappear whenever those two were in the same room together, to Faile's chagrin.

"Is Lord Tam coming soon?" Faile asked for what seemed to be the hundredth time. Her eyes were raised. After all, the food was ready. Perrin could smell the meat, and his eyes glowed yellow. Just because he no longer ran with the wolves did not mean he wasn't part wolf inside. Faile, at least, said he always ate like one.

"I'm sure all is well. He was checking on farms out in the Westwood and was probably delayed by some goodman. It's not like him to be late, but I am sure that is all it is." After the war, the Two Rivers had been scoured. No Shadowspawn had been found, and Perrin took security in that.

"Neither of you act like lords," Faile said. "A feast, and no one to share it with. You even put on your best coat." She brushed at the dark blue wool absently as a servant announced the food was ready. Perrin smiled as the door banged open.

Tam would always be a soldier. Being ennobled had not seemed to change him, at least on the outside. His brown hair, graying at the temples, was cut short, and his plain brown coat showed no ornament or embroidery. He gave Perrin a hug and put an arm around Faile. "I apologize for my lateness," he said. "A farmer needed help unloading his cart of cider. I moved some of the barrels into Bran's cellar. After all, Bel Tine will be here soon."

Perrin smiled and moved toward the dining hall. Even though it was only the three of them, Sea Folk pottery and silver goblets decorated the long, plain farm table. They had just sat down and taken their first bites of food when the door opened once more.

"Come look," Jur Grady said. The Asha'man had stayed as an advisor of sorts, though he could have gone back to the Black Tower. Normally, the stolid farmer was not given to excitement, but he smelled...nervous. Perrin got up, sensing there might be trouble at last, and Faile and Tam followed.

"Burn me!" Perrin whispered. He didn't talk like Mat, but it just slipped out. The former blacksmith had seen plenty of storms, but none like this. Lightning hung in the air, snapping and crackling, in every color of the rainbow, but there was no smell of rain. Instead, to Perrin, it smelled like fire and danger.

Perrin looked at Grady, wondering if it was the Power. Rogue Asha'man still roamed, despite Logain's extradition order and the efforts of the Red Ajah. The farmer shook his head. "Whatever power it may be, it is not saidin. I have never felt anything like it."

Tam put his hand on Mat and Faile's shoulders. "Best go inside," he started to say, when suddenly the manor house, the Two Rivers, and the storm faded away, A tall wall of mountains, looking much like the Mountains of Mist, rose frowning to their right, and cold wind blew. Faile shivered, and Perrin took off his coat and wrapped it around her.

"Where are we, blacksmith?" she demanded.

Mat lounged on a sofa, while Tuon moved around him, beginning to prepare for bed. The campaign to rescue Seander from chaos was underway, and it left Tuon feeling exhausted, especially since she had just had her baby. From the next room over, Mat could hear her squalling.

"Bodewhin Aynora Paendreg, Empress of the Seanchan," he said, trying the name on his tongue. It had seemed odd to Tuon, giving the future Empress a Two Rivers name, but Mat had insisted. It was no greater compliment, as his sister had just been raised Accepted in the White Tower. It was also a reminder to his wife that she could channel, and her daughter likely would as well.

Despite all the uses the Power had been put to, it still dried his mouth. He unconsciously felt for the medallion under his shirt. Light, his wife could channel! At least she wasn't excited about it.

Teslyn came in, carrying the baby. Cadsuane hadn't been keen on letting her stay, but every ruler needed an Aes Sedai advisor, it seemed, and Mat had gated over to Tar Valon to explain how he felt about the stern Red. He chuckled at the memory. When he had told Tuon, she had been aghast and scandalized. She didn't see the need for an Aes Sedai advisor, feeling content merely with Selucia and her Deathwatch Guards, but Mat had carefully explained to her about the benefits, and she had come around. A kiss and a tickle hadn't hurt, either.

Min had also stayed, and came in now. She had let her hair grow longer, and wore a Seanchan dress instead of her regular coat and breeches. Tuon had insisted, and Min had meekly complied. Usually she was happy, but today her face was pale.

Tuon turned to face her, every inch the Empress despite her dress being halfway unbuttoned. "What do you see, Doomseer?" she asked, and it was not a request.

"There is a forest of images around both of you," Min said. "I see a city burning. A fleet of black ships. A charge of many horses. A flaming eye. A ring of gold surrounded by darkness. I do not know what it all means. I have never seen such things before."

Mat shivered. It was one thing to read about battles. It was another to hear that more would come. Of course they would return to Seander, a Haline in reverse, but he hoped to keep Tuon out of the fighting. If she was going to lead a charge, he would be there to protect…

He looked around him. "Mother's milk in a cup!" he swore. Min, Teslyn, and the Tarasin Palace had vanished. They were alone, and to their right, a frowning mountain wall loomed up. Who had snatched them to the Mountains of Mist, and why had he not felt it? The medallion had not grown cold. He looked over at his wife. Teslyn had been teaching her to sense a woman's channeling without the leash. She shook her head. Now Mat was puzzled and alarmed. How could there be a gateway without the Power?

He looked at Tuon and wrapped his coat around her. "I know these mountains," he said, trying to sound more confident than he felt. "I left a banner of the Hand here with Talmanes to watch over the mines. If we walk north, we should be able to find them. We will soon be back home."

"I hope so, lad," came a familiar voice. Mat whirled around, hand going to the dagger he carried on him, even in his sleep. He relaxed when he realized it was Tam. Perrin and Faile stood behind them, looking stunned.

Tam dipped his head to Faile. "Empress," he said.

Tuon laughed. "The father of the Dragon does not bow to me." Then her voice hardened. "How did we get here?"

The two groups soon compared stories. Tam scratched his head when all was said and done. "Not the Power, and we are not in Tel'Aran'Rhoid," he said. "Are there more powers that have since been discovered?" Mat felt the same way- confused and angry.

"If anyone would know, it would be bloody Elayne," Mat said. "Probably playing with her bloody ter'angreal." Tuon poked him in the ribs, hard, but he didn't care. No one snatched him from his own bedroom, even if it was a bloody queen.

"Empress, you are the only one who can channel," Faile said. "Can you open a gateway?"

"I have tried, Lady Faile," Tuon said. "Teslyn says I am growing in strength, and she has shown me the weaves, but I am not yet strong enough. Soon, she says." Mat's medallion went cold, showing her attempt to try again, but he put his hand on her shoulder at the sound of horses.

"Wait," he said. "Someone comes."


	3. Chapter 3- Introductions

Chapter 1- Introductions

"Did you hear what I heard?" Merry asked anxiously. The halfling looked around, and the rest of the Company pricked up their ears. Strider, standing next to Frodo, put a hand on his hilt, but Glorfindel held up a calming hand.

"Le hannon, we are on the borders of Elrond's country. No evil thing can enter here. Continue riding with Frodo. I will see who these other travelers might be." He turned aside, running to the south. The voices were close, behind an outcropping of rocks, and he soon saw them. With his senses tuned to the seen and unseen, he saw that though the men and women were fighters and warriors, they were not evil. Though what was a Haradrim woman doing so far north, and shining like the sun to his eyes? The elves had no dealings with the men of the South. With times as they were, he would not bring them around Frodo quite yet.

Still, he would take them to Elrond. The lean man, clutching a strange spear, had suddenly turned pale. So had the man who looked like a blacksmith. Elrond could help them. He approached slowly, hands out in a gesture of peace, and spoke clearly in the Common Tongue.

"Welcome to Rivendell," he said. "You are in the lands of my lord, Elrond Half-Elven. What is your business here?"

The older man with a bluff face stepped forward and bent his head. "We are travelers. We do not know how we arrived here, but we mean no harm to you or your lord. My name is Tam Al'Thor, Lord of the Two Rivers." He introduced his companions. "King Perrin and Queen Faile of Saldaea, Empress Fortuona of the Seanchan, and Mat, Prince of the Ravens."

Glorfindel was taken aback. There was no lie in their faces, and they were royalty, all of them. But by what magic could five nobles suddenly appear in his lord's lands? Now, more than ever, he had to take them to Elrond.

He dipped his head in respect. "Kings and Ladies of lands I do not know, I am sure my lord will want to meet with you. Please, come with me."

"I have never heard of any lord named Elrond," Mat said. "And my memories have no record of that name. He glowed, unless I was dreaming." He spoke softly. "Yet I do not sense any Power being used. Blood and bloody ashes, where am I?"

"Nor I," Tuon said softly. "Yet he is powerful. He is a warrior of warriors."

"I could almost think we were in a Portal Stone, showing the worlds of if," Perrin said slowly. "What if there was a world where the War of Power and the Breaking never happened? Or if there was no Power?"

Mat swore softly. He wondered that also. "It can't be. There is no bloody Stone near Ebou Dar. There is not one near Manatheren, is there?"

Perrin shook his head. "But…" he swallowed what he was about to say. Mat followed his gaze and gasped. They had come to a valley, and inside was a city to take the breath. It was built into the sides of the valley, almost as though it was part of the land itself. Mat had seen many cities- Caemlyn, Tear, even Tar Valon. But nothing he had ever seen compared to the beauty of this place. Mat felt peaceful, almost as though he was in a stedding, and he let out a deep breath. He had to be dreaming.

"Welcome to Rivendell," Glorfindel said with a smile. "One of the last refuges of Elvenkind left on Middle Earth."

Faile thought she had to be dreaming, too. She held Perrin's calloused hand as they descended. Fair voices rose up to meet them, singing in a beautiful language she did not know. She had heard Loial sing, but nothing like this. It woke something peaceful and quiet in her.

She hesitated as they approached the largest dwelling, but there was no need. The creature named Glorfindel had thrown open the doors and passed in, motioning for them to follow.

This was no fortress, like her father's manor in Maradon. This was a true house. Hangings were everywhere, showing scenes of battle and war, as well as scenes of peace. She passed a large open hall, empty but for a statue on a pedestel, a king stern and bearded, hands outstretched in warning. On the pedestal was a cloth, and on the cloth, pieces of what looked like a broken sword. But she had no time to look further. They had arrived at a door, and she entered into a spacious waiting room, with windows facing toward the other side of the valley and the high mountains. There were couches, and Faile sat thankfully.

"My lord is tending an important matter, and I must join him," Glorfindel said. "Some of my kin will bring refreshments while you wait." Bowing gracefully, he shut the door behind him.

Perrin took her hand. "Do you wish you had some of Cha Faile here?" he asked, smiling, his eyes teasing. "They'd soon have every secret laid bare."

Faile smiled back. "No, husband. If we are in another world, it is better to wait." She still heard the singing, though fainter. "We would not understand. These people have their own language, though they know the tongues of men."

She had no sooner spoken than the door opened and an elf-lady came in. She was a little shorter than Glorfindel, and younger, dressed in white, with dark hair braided to her waist. She carried a tray with a pitcher and simple silver goblets. Two more came in, bearing basins of hot and cold water, and cloths for faces and hands. They quickly set everything on a corner table and withdrew.

She nodded at Perrin, and he got up, bringing goblets for himself and her. It smelled like spiced wine, and she took a sip. It was wine fit for a king. Perrin was admiring the craftmanship.

"It looks plain from a distance," he said. "But look." He showed the goblet to Faile. She looked and caught her breath. Around the base was a delicate pattern, etched into the silver, a swirl that was simple and beautiful all in one.

"It's a king's cup," she said. "I have never seen its equal." She looked up. Tam was looking out the window, enjoying the snow-capped mountains, while Mat sipped at the wine. Tuon was wiping her face with a cold towel, serenely composed, but Faile could see the questions behind those dark eyes. They had not been resting long, indeed Mat had barely started his second cup, when Glorfindel came back in.

"Elrond will see you now," he said.

Tam motioned to the other four. "Let me do the talking," he said. He knew the others would obey, though they might grumble.

He had noticed the beauty all around him, but his military mind was already thinking. Tuon had said Glorfindel was a warrior. He had noticed that too. Was this peaceful place about to go to war? If so, he would lend his sword. He was sure there was a reason for their arrival, and he intended to make the most of it.

The small hall Glorfindel led them to did not look like the hall of a king or even a lord, but that of a scholar. It was packed with shelves, and those shelves were full of scrolls. But the shelves were not what dominated the room. Even if Tam had not seen the simple silver band on Elrond's brow, he would have known he was a lord. Power and authority radiated from him, and Tam found himself dipping his head.

"Lord Elrond, myself and companions," Tam said simply.

Elrond smiled. At that moment, Tam saw someone else step out of the shadows. This man was tall, nearly the height of an Aielman, with a gray beard and piercing eyes. He carried a long staff, and for a moment, Tam thought the impossible- that he had met a male Aes Sedai.

"Your name and the names and titles of your companions are known to me," Elrond said. "This is Gandalf, a traveler like yourselves. If he can place the kingdoms you have mentioned, he will."

Gandalf turned his eyes on him and the other four, and Tam felt naked. Those eyes weighed and measured, but they were also kind, unlike the often angry faces of the Aes Sedai. "From a time far in the future they come," he said. "They are bound with the Quest, or will be."

"Do you speak truly?" Elrond asked sharply, and Tam was reminded of a sword sliding from its scabbard. "Such a thing is not thought to be possible, even in the height of the Noldor's power."

"By my wisdom from Valinor, I speak true," Gandalf said. Now his eyes flashed.

Tam took another look at the man named Gandalf. He left aside the question of Valinor, and instead looked at his face. He heard Mat shifting behind him, wanting to speak, but instead held up a hand. Gandalf's eyes were deep, and he suddenly realized the wanderer was old. Cadsuane was the oldest human he had met, but Gandalf was far older. He made a note to talk to him later.

"Until we can return to our time, we can offer you what weapons we have. We will not be bystanders. I wish to see more of this place before sunset. With your leave?"

Elrond nodded. "We will eat at the setting of the sun. Ask any elf, and they will direct you."

Tuon was bursting with questions as they took their leave. Most of all, she wanted to know what Gandalf meant.

"I don't believe he can lie," she said. "When I looked at him, he was bright, like the sun. And he has power, too. I felt it- it is a storm of light."

"Like Rand?" Matrim asked. Tuon nodded.

"You said Rand saw through his ancestor's eyes," Tuon pressed. "Is it possible to take someone back in body?" She was not afraid. No one who had hopes of sitting on the Crystal Throne could show fear. But she still felt the need to whisper. "Could it be, Matrim?"

Her husband took her hand, then shrugged. "I don't know. I was never the scholar. If Moiraine or one of the other Aes Sedai were here, we might ask them."

Perrin had overheard their whispering. "If we are in the past, how far back might we be?" They had arrived at the waiting room, and Mat went for the wine as he thought. Tuon waited, wondering what he would say, or what he knew.

"The Age of Legends and the Age before had things we could not even imagine building. We saw some- the Tower of Genjei and the Portal Stones."

"Whitebridge. The Horn of Valere," Faile broke in.

Tam's voice overrode them all. "We don't know enough to say. I could feel the tension, however. Neither Elrond or Gandalf is telling all he knows. We have to consider that this is an Age where the Dark One is trying to break free."

"Mother's milk in a cup!" Mat swore, standing up and splashing his wine. "Not again!"

Tuon hated her husband's language, but agreed with his sentiment. Hadn't they just sealed him up once? But if it was true, there was only one choice. The blacksmith spoke it.

"We fight."

Faile spoke softly. "We came to their world. They need to know about ours. All of it."

Elrond was surprised when he heard the knock. It was growing late. The strangers had come to the meal, but said little, simply enjoying the food and wine. He had missed part of it, too, taking the splinter of the Morgul-blade out of Frodo. He was weary with all that was portended, and wished to sleep.

"Come," he said, more sharply than his wont.

Erestor poked in his head. "It is the five strangers. They wish to tell their story."

Elrond's mind cleared at once. "We will meet in the Little Hall. Bring water and wine for the guests. Have Glorfindel and Gandalf come, and my two sons. Aragorn, as well."

Soon everyone was assembled. Elrond noticed with humor that Mat was the drinker, while the others only took water, and looked more watchful. He introduced Aragorn, saying nothing of his lineage, but the strangers bowed in respect anyway. Elrond nodded. He liked that.

Faile began it, telling of something called the War of Power and the Breaking. Tuon then continued, telling of the Trolloc Wars and a king named Artur Hawkwing. Aragorn leaned forward here, and Elrond knew why. In the stranger's time, he had been their greatest king. Tam then spoke of the Aiel War and Laman's Pride, and Elrond shook his head. But out of it had come good, and Mat and Perrin spoke of that, talking of Rand's birth, childhood and exploits, and the final sealing of the Dark One's prison. It was a story to be sung by the best of bards, and he looked at the strangers in a new light.

"Our history is also full of such deeds," Elrond finally said. "But tell me. You say there are schools of wizards?" He saw their blank look. "Magic, you would call it."

Tam explained about the White Tower, and told what little he knew of the Black. Then he looked at Tuon. "I believe you are being trained, Empress?"

"Yes," the tiny, dark woman said. Elrond could not believe she was a queen, but when she tilted her head, he saw it clear. She did not speak, but simply extended her hands. A ball of fire began to dance between her fingers. That disappeared, and the table on which the wine sat began to move. Elrond jumped back as it brushed his leg, and put a hand on it to stop its movement.

"I can also use my abilities in war," Tuon said. "But I will not show that here." The light around her faded away, and the feeling of power vanished. She sat slowly, and Mat took her hand. His eyes shone with pride.

"She has come far. Though she has the ability born, to use it takes many years of learning. To even make a ball of fire takes months of practice."

"Only because Teslyn drives me like the hawk she is," Tuon said. She sounded angry, and gripped Mat's hand tightly. "She wants to tie a string around the Seanchan. I will not have it!"

"You have to understand, Elrond, that the Aes Sedai used to be called the Servants of All. As their power grew, so did their pride. Eventually, they believed they could control even kings and queens." Briefly Perrin told of what he had seen, and a little of the Three Oaths. Elrond sighed, and Gandalf looked troubled. Men were always the same, susceptible to power and pride.

"There are some that are decent," Mat said. "My wife's advisor, Teslyn. Moiraine, the Aes Sedai who rescued us from our hometown. Nynaeve, once the Wisdom of our village. My sister, even. You might say she is an apprentice, like the Empress."

"You have told of many marvels," Elrond said. Aragorn said nothing, but Elrond knew his foster son saw strength in them. He was already putting them into the Quest. "In one week, we will have a council. There is danger, and you are correct to offer your swords. In the meantime, rest and explore. This valley is safe, and you will come to no harm."

Tam dipped his head for the strangers, and they withdrew. Elrond turned to his council. "Tell me your thoughts," he commanded.


	4. Chapter 4- Council

Chapter 2- Council of War

Tam walked along the ground, thinking. Perched high above the city, he smiled. Like the rest of his friends, he had used the time well. The younger couples were always away, soaking up the beauty of the hidden valley and being husband and wife. The elves had a sense of humor, and found them the best hiding places for a kiss or more. Many were the times one of the four would come back, flushed from more than walking.

He felt a pang at that. His wife was long since dead, and he wanted no other. He felt his time was better spent learning about their new world. Though he learned nothing of current trouble, he learned geography and history, and about the different races and cultures of Middle Earth. He was surprised. Elves, dwarves and hobbits did not exist in his time, and he was sad that so much good was lost.

He was also appalled. Aginor was not the first to make Shadowspawn. He learned more than he wanted to about Morgoth and his twisted creations. It was not pleasant reading, and when the others asked, he would refer them to the scrolls. Elrond was honest, telling about the failings of his ancestors and about the Silmarils.

"It is sad they could not be preserved," Mat murmured, seeing a painting of the holy jewels held in Feanor's hands. "Still, obsession is not a failing simply of Elves." He was honest in his turn, telling about the ruby dagger and the sad case of Mordeth and Padan Fain.

Elrond nodded. "The influence of the Enemy cannot be wholly blamed. Our wills are free, and often, they are used for evil. I am glad you survived, Lord Mat. Many might not."

Aragorn would sometimes come, and he spoke of Numenor, the great kingdom of mariners, and about its slow fall. Tam wondered how he might have done- to see eternal life just out of reach and to know it was impossible to grasp. It might have also driven him mad.

Elrond nodded, as though guessing his mind. "I have also wondered. Iluvatur, the Creator, has wisdom beyond the reach of Elves or Men. We do not always know why things occur, but in the end, all will be revealed and completed to the finest detail. Do not believe the Circle of Ages is endless. One day, the ages will come to a halt, and all evil will be dealt with."

Tam received the point, and the others nodded. But it was not all talking. Dancing and singing seemed to take up most of the time of the elves, and Tam found his feet moving like he did not even at Bel Tine. Perrin grinned at him. "Like being with the Tinkers," he said. "They also love their music."

He also made much over the hobbits, meeting them the day before the feast and council. The little men charmed him. He did not talk much with them, however, for Perrin and Faile snatched them up. All that last day, they could be seen with the King and Queen, talking of the Shire. It seemed that Perrin even smoked some of their famous pipeweed. He wondered if it could be compared to the tabac he had once grown, and smiled.

At the great feast, he met more people, sitting at the table reserved for royalty. He supposed he was, and to his right was a dwarf, richly ornamented. This must have been one of Thorin's twelve companions, and indeed it was. Gloin looked at him over his cup when he introduced himself.

"A foreign lord, eh? And a fighting man? Good. Perhaps one day we can spar with each other."

Tam nearly laughed, then saw that his seatmate was deadly serious. There was a gleam in the dwarf's eye, continued when he said, "None of the dwarves up at the Lonely Mountain want to fight with me anymore. We're known for betting, and I take all their money."

Tam laughed aloud. Gloin's son, Gimli, shouted across the table. "That's because you are the best axe-fighter since Durin!"

At the Council the next day, Faile sat close to Aragorn, intrigued by the king who lived in exile. Perrin sat opposite in the circle, next to the dwarves. Of course he would sit next to them, if half of what she heard about dwarves was true. Tam sat next to Gandalf, while Mat and Tuon sat next to the weather-beaten man that had just arrived in Rivendell.

"Friends, strangers from distant lands, we come here today to decide the fate of Middle-Earth. It is for us, and no others, to deem this doom. Here we must decide what to do with the Ring." As the sun rose, Elrond spoke clearly and coldly of Sauron, the Dark Lord, and the forging of the Rings of Power. Faile had never been told what Sauron had done after Morgoth's fall. Now she knew, and shivered. He spoke honestly of the deception of the elves, and the long war that had followed. He told of the Last Alliance, and Isildur's fatal mistake.

Faile was sober. All too well she knew of long defenses. At least no Borderland lord had fallen to Isildur's temptation- to use the Enemy's weapons. "For two and a half thousand years it was hidden, until it was found once more."

Gandalf now spoke of Gollum. Faile's heart twisted when she heard the full effect of the Ring. A creeping, insidious evil it was, which was why she marveled at gentle Bilbo's finding and use of the Ring. Though at the end, even he had been nearly overcome. Then Frodo spoke, more unwillingly, of all his doings with the Ring and the frightening journey to bring it to Rivendell.

Faile had to revise her estimation of hobbits. Their land was charming, reminding her of the Two Rivers, but she had thought them small and self-centered, caring only for food and drink. Now she saw it was not so. She knew she would be proud to take any hobbit into her service.

From across the ring, Perrin spoke. "I do not understand. How can these Ringwraiths have such power?"

Aragorn spoke. "The nine rings given to men extended their lives, but also brought them into domination to Sauron. They do not see the world as we do, and are invisible to us. But make no mistake. They are filled with their master's power, and with his hatred. They are truly Sauron's chief servants."

One of the Elves, Erestor, or so Faile thought his name was, now spoke. "How do we know this is the Enemy's Ring? What are the proofs?"

"The time has come," Elrond said. "Bring out the Ring."

Tuon watched the half-man carefully. She was also struck by his great courage and loyalty, and wondered how he would be accepted among the Deathwatch Guard. He could be trained, and could become a fierce fighter.

From his shirt, Frodo withdrew a round, glittering object and placed it on a small stone table. From next to her, the man Boromir spoke.

"Isildur's Bane," he muttered.

"Some might think little of this ring. We know where the Nine are. The Seven are lost, in Sauron's keeping or destroyed by dragon fire. The Three are safe. And if you doubt me, Erestor, there is one final test, if one has the strength to set the thing in the fire." Drawing himself up, he spoke words in a foreign tongue, cold and commanding, as vile to her ears as the elven-tongue was beautiful. A clould seemed to come over the sun, and the power all around her shivered.

"Never has that tongue been heard in Imladris," Elrond said.

"And let us hope it is not again," Gandalf said. "But if it is not to be heard in every valley in the West, let us put aside all doubt that this is the One, filled with all the power and malice of Sauron. It must be destroyed!"

"Why should it be destroyed? With this ring, let us ride forth to victory." It was Boromir, and he was standing now. "With this ring, the powers of Mordor would be shaken. Use the weapons of the Enemy against him, and destroy the Barad-Dur."

"Alas, no. It is altogether evil, and cannot be used except by the Enemy alone. Anyone who took it would be twisted by its touch."

"So be it," Boromir said slowly. "We will trust in what weapons we always have."

Tuon didn't agree. As she looked at the Ring, she felt a dark current whispering to her, promising power. With it, she could restore Seander. She could make the nations kneel. She could…

"What of Saruman?" Glorfindel said. "Why is he not at this Council?"

Now Gandalf spoke once more, speaking of betrayal and captivity. Again the dark voice whispered. Tuon knew that all the Aes Sedai had to be leashed. If she didn't want a betrayal like this Saruman had done, the use of the Power had to be controlled. And the Ring could bring that order.

"Can we send it over Sea?" Erestor asked.

Elrond spoke slowly. "No. It is for us here on Midde Earth to deal with it. We have two options- to keep it hidden or to destroy it."

Boromir had listened, so far, but now he could listen no more. Who were these strangers that he did not know, that they took council with the great of Middle-Earth? Who was the strange, dark woman that had an air of threat? A Haradrim, maybe, a sorceror of the South? He trusted Elrond's leading on the Ring, though he did not agree, but not his judgment on who was at Council. Now he rose, hand on his sword.

"Who are these strangers, that they sit in Council?" he snapped. "Why should they be here? A Southlander among them."

Everyone clenched their fists, he saw, though the older man held up a hand. "I know of the trouble between your people and the Southrons. Elrond has told me. But we are not from the South, nor the North. Nor east or west."

The explanation did not seem to explain, and Boromir stepped forward to challenge. A sharp "Halt!" froze him in place. "Don't think you are the only one confused," Glorfindel said. "But let us not raise weapons. Not here where we decide the fate of the Ring."

Elrond spoke. "It is nearly noon, and there is still much to discuss. Tam, can you introduce your companions? It is only right we know their story."

The one named Tam, with a calm, bluff face, stepped forward. He had the air of a soldier, and Boromir suddenly realized if his challenge was accepted, he might not have left the circle. Tam introduced his companions, and then himself, and told how they had come to Middle Earth. Then he asked Elrond and Gandalf to vouch for his words, humbling stating his story sounded more than incredible.

Boromir bowed his head when both gave testimony as to their knowledge, their history, and their trustworthiness. He was also ashamed at his behavior, and wondered if perhaps the warnings did not have some merit. "Your majesties," he said. "Lord Tam." If they were trouble, or if even Elrond had been deceived, they would be dealt with before they left. Five humans would not overcome a whole company of elves. He could give the benefit of the doubt, for a while.

Suddenly he started. Tuon was pale, swaying. "Lord Mat, your wife. Is she well? She does not look like herself."

Mat was sitting by his wife, and saw the dazed look in her eyes, as though she was falling under a trance. He felt the call of the Ring, too, but remembered a ruby dagger. If this Ring was evil, he wanted no part of it. He shook Tuon's shoulder gently, and she looked up at him.

"Don't be deceived," he said. "This is wicked. Think of Isildur, and Gollum, and even Bilbo. Think of the Ringwraiths, deceived by promises of power." Tuon nodded, though her face was tight.

He had been paying attention, and now spoke. "Lord Elrond, it seems clear it cannot be hidden. Sauron will eventually come for it. So can it be destroyed here with the fires we have?"

"No fire is hot enough, Lord Mat," Elrond said. "It must be destroyed where it was made, in the land of Mordor."

"Can an army lead the way into Mordor?" was Mat's next question. "Could we rebuild the Last Alliance?" He had seen maps. It looked hard, but not impossible. There were passes an army could scale.

Elrond shook his head. "Men and elves are estranged. We could no longer do as we did. No, son of battles, a man, or a small company, must go." 

"One hobbit started the adventure, and one hobbit must finish it," Bilbo said. "When do I leave?"

Mat laughed, then saw the old hobbit was serious. Mat knew how he felt. He had finished with the dagger, but not all people were called to finish what he had started. Elrond seemed to agree.

"The Ring has grown beyond you now, Bilbo, though we know you are making a valiant offer. Finish your book, and be prepared to write a sequel."

Bilbo smiled. Mat was reminded of an old soldier, finished with his commission but willing to fight one battle more. He saw the bravery of the hobbits, too. The Band needed more men with such an unquenchable spirit.

"Then who are the messsengers to be sent with the Ring? That seems like all the Council has to decide. Who will they be?"

A silence descended. Mat looked around the circle. Every head was down. Even the birds of Rivendell seemed to be waiting. Mat wondered who would break the silence. He knew he would not want to go on such a quest- even if it was to save the world.

"I will take the Ring," Frodo said finally. He sounded very small. "I will take the Ring, though I do not know the way."

Mat was stunned and ashamed. Here was someone, little taller than a child, willing to go on a suicide quest. He had blown the Horn of Valere and walked on the Dark One's prison. Yet he was afraid? He walked forward to stand beside Frodo. "You have my spear," he said.

Aragorn rose. "If by life and death I can defend you, I will."

"You have my axe," the dwarf said.

"And my bow," proclaimed the elf.

Mat looked at his companions. "You have my sword," Tam said slowly.

Faile made daggers dance in and out of her hands. It was enough.

Perrin stood. "My hammer will clear your way."

Mat looked at Tuon. She stood slowly, never taking her eyes off the Ring. "By my authority as Empress, I will do what must be done."

Sam ran in. "I won't be left behind."

Elrond grinned. "No, since you did not stay away from a secret council."

Boromir stood. "Our path lies together, Frodo. I will go."

Just then, the two young hobbits burst in. "Someone with intelligence must be in the party," Pippin said. "We won't be left, either."

"Then you certainly will not go, Peregrin Took," Gandalf said, beard bristling, but with a twinkle in his eyes. It was a solemn moment, but Mat laughed. How much like himself were the two young hobbits, full of mischief but willing to jump into the Pit of Doom for their friends. But when the wizard spoke next, his voice was grave, and his eyes sad. "I will go with you, Frodo. Here my labors against Sauron will be put to their final test."

"Very well," Elrond said. "You shall be the Fellowship of the Ring."


	5. Chapter 5- Going South

Chapter 3- Going South

 **I am sorry it has been so long. Life has been filled with disasters lately, and I have recently regained my motivation to post this story.**

 **As usual- the characters belong to JRR Tolkien and Robert Jordan. I claim no credit for them, just for this story.**

The days after the Council passed quickly. Elrond had sent out scouts to determine the fate of the Ringwraiths. On these parties, at least around Rivendell, Mat and Perrin had gone. Aragorn spent more time with Arwen, but the other members of the Fellowship were open, and they often walked and talked together, or enjoyed the food of Rivendell.

Faile also spent time walking. Gandalf had insisted on toughening up the hobbits and the women for the journey ahead. Faile had complained at first, before she remembered her frightening trip through the Blight with the Horn. Slowly, as fall passed into winter, her blisters turned into callouses, and she felt new strength in her.

But walking was not the only thing she did. She often met in the great library of Elrond, poring over maps to determine a way into the Land of Shadow. She knew at once that the trip would be a long one, and talked with Gandalf often about their chances. There, for the first time, she heard about Dol Guldur and the Necromancer, and the traps they might face.

"Mordor is a wide land. We may be able to avoid the northern route, close to his fortress, and instead approach from the South." Even with his encouragement, it didn't look easy, and the description was not encouraging. Perrin also joined in these talks, and more rarely, Mat and Tuon. Tuon had been given a short sword, forged by the elves, and was learning swordplay at her husband's hand. Faile also joined in the practices, knowing the knives would not be enough. Tam was also there, adding advice and encouragement.

Her days, then, were full of learning and study and work, and she fell into bed exhausted each night. She knew, though, as the daughter of a borderland lord, that there was no such thing as too much preparation. Even the hobbits caught the solemn mood, and also practiced, building up their strength.

About mid-November, she was released from her practice and sent to the forge. Perrin had spent some time there, but she had never gone. He was there when she arrived.

"I thought Gandalf had taken you out," Perrin said, giving her a kiss.

"Not today. He said our help was needed at the forge. I know you know metal, but I do not. How can I be of use?"

At that moment, Aragorn came in. His eyes were shadowed, and he carried a cloth. Putting it on the table, he slowly unwound it, revealing the pieces of the broken sword.

His voice was slow and filled with purpose, the voice of a leader. "This is Elendil's sword Narsil, that broke under him fighting Sauron. It is time to reforge it once more, for we go to march on the Dark Land. As members of the company, I would have you do this task. Perrin, I will place my heritage in your hands." With that, he left.

Perrin had made many weapons, but the reforging of weapons once they were broken was a tricky thing. Master Luhhan sometimes even had trouble fitting together a broken plow or axe. How then, could he put back together the sword of kings? Yet Aragorn had put his trust in him.

He also realized the elves had been watching the practice at the forge. Someone who could create a Ring of Power would certainly know if someone had skill in working metal. He felt a little reassured at the thought, and slowly unwound the cloth.

Taking the pieces, he fit them together, seeing the shape of the sword, then separated them again. Once again, he fit the pieces together, his mind working in its slow, patient way. The elven forge was well-equipped, and the fire was hot, but still he was not ready. Selecting a leather vest, he put it on, and motioned for Faile to do the same. Putting the hilt and the next piece into the fire, he tested the hammers, finding one of the right weight.

"Keep the fire at this heat," he said, motioning to the bellows. Faile went over, pushing the great fans with slow, steady strokes. The metal was warming, now, and soon reached an orange just short of yellow.

Taking the pieces in the tongs, he laid them on the anvil, and with a mighty swing, brought the hammer down, sending sparks flying. Soon he was absorbed in his work, as the sword of Middle-Earth's greatest king was reunited under his fingers. Swing and hammer, heat, cool, swing and hammer, reheat, cool. Piece by piece, she shards were added.

He no longer felt his arm, or noticed Faile by his side. The sword was all. Swing and hammer, heat, cool, repeat. Sweat ran down his face, and he dashed it away. From somewhere, he felt power flowing into the metal. The elves were adding their light, and he was glad. It would make the sword stronger. He added his own thoughts, of the sword slicing through Shadowspawn and the light reflecting along the edge, of the point raised in victory, and everything he knew of the valor of men. Swing! Sparks flew as the final shard was put into place. He plunged it into the cooling barrel. Then was to put on an edge, which was soon done. Finally, he raised his eyes and looked around.

Night had fallen, and the forge was crowded with elves and with the Company. Faile stood from the bellows, smiling, her face red with sweat. "So that is what it means to be a blacksmith," she said. She smelled...pleased and amazed.

Gimli looked stunned. "You forge as well as any dwarf," he said. "I've never seen such work."

But it was Aragorn he looked at most. Arwen stood by his side, and her eyes shone. Already, they looked like royalty. Taking the sword from where it had cooled, he presented it to Aragorn, going down on one knee. "Take your sword, Aragorn king," he said. "And ride to victory."

Aragorn received it. The edge was keen, and caught the light of the moon. He raised it, and a cheer rose from the Company. "I name you Anduril, Flame of the West."

"We will put runes on it," Elrond said. "But the work is well done. You indeed have skill, Perrin king." And he dipped his head. That the immortal elf would give such a compliment made Perrin feel warm. All around him was the sense of companionship and common purpose that he had not felt even in the Two Rivers. All he could do was bow his head in gratitude.

More time passed. Snow crept down the mountains, and it grew colder each day. Tuon felt the new strength in her. She had trained with weapons, and hands and feet, but was still amazed at how much there was left to learn. Though the bow was not a weapon the Seanchan used often, she had even practiced with it, and was astounded. The elves were slim and pale. How did they have the strength to draw the bow all the way back? Then she remembered the great elven heroes. She promised she would one day be like them.

Now all was ready. The Fellowship was gathered, waiting for Gandalf. Aragorn sat on the last step, shrouded in his cloak. Tuon had not been at the reforging of Narsil, but the story had spread through Rivendell, and she imagined it was the first step on the way to claim his inheritance. She did not blame him for being nervous.

Gandalf came out now with Elrond. The elf-lord spoke low. "The Company is leaving on the Quest of Mount Doom. One charge only I lay on Frodo: to not give up the Ring except to other members of the Company, and then at great need. The others will go as far as courage and strength allow."

Silently, Elrond's words in their ears, they marched out of the hidden valley, Soon the lights of Rivendell were left far behind, merely a glimmer in the distance that were soon swallowed by the vast, brooding wilderness. Tuon felt a chill. She knew now what Rivendell meant. Out here could be the twisted orcs or worse things. She had read more than enough.

Matrim patted her on the shoulder. "What could be worse than a Trolloc?" he asked. His simple encouragement made her smile, and she put an arm around his waist. Being in a different world had drawn them closer, and she had seen his quality, day after day. Though she had many worries, he helped relieve them with his simple ways and his suberabundance of confidence.

For the next two weeks they marched through the barren lands, resting during the day and eating cold meals. For Tuon, it was very different. Even during the worst of the Last Battle, she had been safely in Ebou Dar, delegating through her Truthspeaker and her generals. Now she was alone, in a vast wilderness on the brink of war. Matrim brought her meals and rubbed her feet, but she was lost in her own problems.

The strange power she had felt, like but unlike saidar, so bright in Rivendell, was now fainter, with strange, dark currents running through it. She was afraid to touch it, knowing now how men had felt before the Cleansing, but tried still, working on expanding her ability. She knew it was what Teslyn would have wanted. She also refused to think of the Ring as the mountains grew closer, but every day, it nagged at her. It was sometimes hard to see Frodo as a hobbit, and less as someone who was keeping her desire from her. With all her willpower, she resisted the seduction, knowing it for darkness.

Finally they stopped. Gandalf seemed pleased. "We have arrived at the country called Hollin. As the eagle flies, we have marched forty leagues from Rivendell, but many more over these paths. It was an elven land, and it cannot wholly forget the fair folk."

Tuon felt it. The power seemed clearer here, and the pull of the Ring lessened. Around her, everyone seemed to breathe easier. Tentatively, she reached out, and for the first time since leaving the hidden valley, made a fireball dance between her hands.


	6. Chapter 6- Ancient Enemies

Chapter 4- Ancient Enemies

Gandalf looked hard at the Company. They had done well, but there was further to go. The strangers had been useful so far, but there was one that worried him. With her power, she was most susceptible to the lure of the Ring. Slowly, she approached the woman that looked like a child. The son of battles had an arm around her protectively.

"We have a long climb," he said.

"Your long walks helped," Tuon said. Her eyes flickered, and Gandalf could feel her reaching out, trying to feel the land and any darkness that might be in it. "I feel darkness to the South. Saruman, maybe. And...here. Someone in our company entertains dark thoughts."

Gandalf suspected that too, and now he had to ask straight out. "And you? You have the most to gain if you possessed the Ring."

Mat opened his mouth, angry, but Tuon put a hand over it. "You see truly, wizard. I long for every weapon that would help bring order and oppose chaos. But the Ring is evil. I sense its call, and what it whispers is dark. I will not take it." Her voice was hard. "I am tempted, but I will not take it. Not to hold, and not to use."

Mat spoke now. "It's better you don't. I've told you of the ruby dagger. The Ring is just as bad, or worse." He squeezed her shoulder gently. "If you are ever tempted, let me help you. I promise I will not let it take you."

Gandalf remembered the story that Mat had told and whispers, and felt horrified all over again, but glad that here were two that would resist the Ring's call. Who, then, was the one that entertained evil? He would watch the Company more closely.

Boromir came up. "Cold is a danger in the mountains, and we will suffer it, if no worse, before we come down the other side. We should each take a bundle of firewood, as much as we can carry. Even you, Empress." He scowled and marched off.

Tuon looked confused, and Mat angry. He tightened his grip on his wife's shoulders, and his hand shifted on his strange spear. Gandalf held up a hand. "You look like one of the Haradrim, Tuon. Boromir's people and the Haradrim have long been at war, for those of the South harass the coast. He sees you as a spy or enemy, especially with your powers unknown."

Mat relaxed his grip. "What do you think?" he said. "You are wise, Gandalf. What do you see?"

"I am horrified by anyone, no matter how powerful, being chained," Gandalf said bluntly. "You, however, Empress, are not evil, or a spy. You hate all darkness, and I know that your armies have brought peace where there was often none." His voice dropped. "If you return home, Tuon, maybe some men will go with you. I would like to see your land restored."3

Tuon relaxed. "Most people hate the Seanchan for what they do," she said. "Still, perhaps a better way can be found. Matrim, will you do what Lord Boromir says? I can carry a little more." Mat turned and went, while Gandalf began to watch the rest of the Company.

Mat was glad the wizard had vouched for them, and glad he accepted Tuon. His explanation for Boromir's hostility also made sense. Tuon could probably fry him to a crisp where he stood, but she refused to, instead meekly taking the bundle on her already bowed back. And so they began, winding up toward Caradhras. The path, at first faint, soon turned into a broken road.

Mat had heard what the dwarf had said. This must have been a road over the mountains, to the great halls. He wondered what could make the indomitable dwarfs leave their underground homes, and shrugged. Whatever it was, it was no longer a danger. The place felt empty and quiet, as though a long war had been fought there.

Gandalf nodded when he asked. "Yes, there was friendship here between dwarf and elf. But Celebrimbor reached too high. The Silverfoot was the one who worked with Sauron to make the Rings of Power."

"So the halls were ruined because of his pride? I understand the outside being ruined." He kicked a piece of rubble. "But Moria?"

"That is a different story," Aragorn said. "Later I might tell it." His tone said to leave the matter alone, and even Gimli fell silent. Mat wondered why they were so grim. What could be worse than the Dark One? He felt cold settle on his face and reached up to brush away a snowflake. The dark clouds over the mountains were finally shedding their load.

He trudged on. If it was a blanket of snow, it would bother them little. If it reached higher, they would be in trouble. The snow began to thicken, and Mat was amazed that the hobbits still wore no shoes. Was there something special about them, some ability that set them apart? So he wondered, even as the flakes began to turn into a blizzard. He stepped up beside the wizard. "Is this wizard's work?" he asked.

"No," Gandalf said. "Caradhras has had an ill reputation for a long time. A mountain cannot make weather, it is true, but there are older and fouler things than Sauron deep within the rocks. Be on your guard until we come down the other side."

Mat did not need to take the warning. He still remembered the flight of crows that had startled them before the crossing of the pass. Perrin had turned pale, even as he hid. Something to do with an incident in their own world, though he had never explained. Now Mat thought he might have to ask.

Tuon was struggling, and he reached out to help her. The hobbits were bravely marching on, but they were breathing hard. "We need shelter," he said to Gandalf. "And we need it soon." He peered through the gloom. Around the corner, it looked like the wall extended out, and underneath was a hollow. It was not much, but it would do.

Gandalf agreed when it was pointed out, and soon they were under the overhang. Bill was placed in front of the hobbits, and Mat rubbed his hands. The blizzard was still howling, and he put Tuon behind him, against the rock, sheltering her from the wind. Now all they could do was wait- unless. "What do you say to fire?" he asked the wizard finally.

Frodo thought a fire was a good idea as well. He looked at Gandalf, and the wizard nodded. Though they had permission, it passed the ability of anyone to make a fire. Even the stubborn dwarf eventually threw down his tinder in disgust.

Reluctantly, Gandalf raised his staff, but the tiny, dark queen stopped him. "Let me try," she said. "My power may be something our enemies do not expect." Gandalf nodded and waited, hands at his knees. The tiny woman held out her hands, and Frodo felt his skin crackle. He had never before seen her use her power, and she was only an apprentice. She strained, and suddenly the wood burst into flame.

She slumped down, and Mat was there to support her. Gimli now took over, carefully feeding the flame, and Frodo went over to warm his hands. Sam was nodding. "She's a fine woman," he said. "Never thought a queen would want to come with us, but I like her."

"So do I, Sam," Frodo said. He decided to go over to them. Tuon hardly raised her head, but Mat looked up and motioned for Frodo to sit beside him.

"Tell me about your family," the lord said.

"All I have is my uncle Bilbo," Frodo said quietly. "My parents both died when I was young. It was fortunate I was made his heir." It was a dull pain, but he smiled. "My friends are my family."

Mat smiled back. "I don't know why Gandalf is worried. If anything is out in this weather, they are fools. Even the monsters of my home would not be out in snow."

Frodo knew the light-hearted man was trying to raise his spirits. He appreciated it. The Ring often was a heavy weight on his heart and mind. In all reality, Mat acted more like a hobbit than a man. He would be at home in the Shire, even if his stern wife was not. "Tell me more about the Two Rivers," he said. He had heard stories before, but wanted to hear more.

"It is like your Shire," Mat said. "Nothing much happens there, and no one wants it to. People there are fond of food and drink. I think you would like it there."

"Do you miss it, being a lord?" Frodo asked.

Mat's laugh was easy. "Sometimes. I never wanted to be a lord. The Pattern had other things in mind. Who would have thought I would marry an empress?" He winked at Tuon. "Though she's better than some other nobles I have known."

Tuon smiled at him. "Matrim is right. And I never expected to marry a farmer, even if he is more than that now." Those stern eyes twinkled. It was clear they loved each other, and Frodo in some ways was envious. Even Sam had looked at Rosie more than once.

"And your daughter?" Frodo asked. "Will she be queen after you?" He didn't understand the ways of kings and queens. Even the Thain was not always passed from father to son. He was curious, but Tuon's face grew stern once more.

"I hope so," she said. "Many lords want the Crystal Throne. Bodewin may have to fight to hold onto it. But I want her to be my successor and heir. There is enough blood that has been spilt in the royal family."

Frodo could see that was not all of it. What was Tuon not telling? Mat looked at his wife and diverted the conversation, and for some time, they talked of pleasant things- the Two Rivers and the wonders of their own time, far in the future. For a while, Frodo even forgot the cold and where they were. Suddenly he looked up.

"The snow has stopped," he said. "Do we go forward or back?"

Tam could see how much the hobbits, and even Tuon, had struggled. He thought it was better to go back down the mountain, but going back was not as easy as it looked. Drifts and hummocks of snow completely buried the path, so that it could hardly be seen. There was no way a hobbit could walk through all of that.

At Gandalf's nod, he raised his voice. "Aragorn, Boromir, Perrin, come and help me clear a path. The little people must be able to pass."

They came with a will, and began to beat a way through the drifts, trampling the snow as they did so. They were strong, and Tam was amazed that they had so much strength after the long climb. Legolas ran up beside them. "I will see how far the drifts go." With that, he ran along in his light shoes, soon disappearing around the bend. Tam was jealous. It was a skill he wanted to have. Soon enough, the elf came back.

"The greatest drift is just around the bend. After that, it goes down quickly, till it is only a blanket to cool a hobbit's toes."

Tam measured the distance with his eyes. "About a furlong, then," he said. "We can manage that." Legolas nodded, and went back to the rest of the company to wait.

Boromir came up beside him. "You were not always a farmer." he said. Tam liked the plain spoken soldier that was also a lord, and could appreciate Gondor's struggle. Much like the Borderlands, they had fighting and learning blended together.

"No," Tam replied. "When I was young, I went out into the world, serving first Queen Morgase of Andor, then the Companions of Illian, the king's bodyguard. When the Aiel came over the mountains, I was there to push them back." He paused, remembering those awful months. "The Blood Snow," he said. "That's what they called the last battle, at the gates of Tar Valon itself. All for one man's pride."

"I would have not appreciated such an insult," Boromir said. "These desert fighters sound like the Haradrim that we oppose. Though I don't suppose the Aiel have oliphants."

Tam worked to stretch his memory, then it came to him- the giant animals, senior cousins to the s'redit of Seanchan. "No," he said shortly, troubled. Aragorn had spoken of the pride of men. Empires rose and fell, all for ambitions of land and power. He knew Boromir wanted to reclaim the glory of Gondor, and the Ring had most likely been playing off that temptation.

He had heard Gandalf's questioning of Tuon, and her honest response. Tam, though, thought the wizard should look closer to home. He had the feeling Boromir was the bad apple Gandalf was looking for. Even if he was not, he wanted to give encouragement.

"I know you will one day claim the Stewardship, if the rightful king does not return first. Don't be like Laman. He was a fool who doomed his country. Gondor will reclaim its honor, Lord Steward, but not by means that only lead to evil."

Boromir shot him a look that let him know that his suspicions were right, and dropped back behind them, pushing down the snow that the other men were clearing. Aragorn came up to take his place. Tam cocked his head as he looked at the weatherbeaten man. He still did not see a king, though Aragorn led well. He looked again. There was authority in those grey eyes, enough to make kingdoms shatter.

Aragorn sighed. "You see clearly. But do not speak of it. My claim will wait until the Ring is destroyed. I will not divide my people while war is on the borders." He paused. "I heard your words to Boromir. I see it too. Ambition runs deep in him."

"Mat and Tuon have taken a liking to Frodo. And if they are asleep, you or I can watch. I have seen good men brought down by pride and fear." He spoke briefly of Rand and his near collapse into madness. "You show great royalty, my friend, to not take the Ring." They had reached the drift now, and it was as the elf had said. "Come now, we will speak no more of it. We know what we must do."

Perrin overheard the conversation. He too was concerned. As they started back, he determined to watch over the hobbits. An extra set of eyes might be useful. He was sure Faile would agree, but he would speak to her of it anyway.

He soon came to Sam. "I am weary, but I have some strength in me. Climb onto my back. I will need my arms. Aragorn, take Frodo. Tam, if you will take Pippin. Boromir, take Merry. Gimli, if you will lead the pony. Legolas, take the lead with your bow. There may be crows. Faile and Tuon, bring up the rear." He thought Faile would be impressed, how he led and how he mixed his commands so Boromir suspected nothing. She did indeed smell pleased, but Boromir, who he suspected, smelled furious. So it was him, was it? Gandalf would soon know, if he did not already.

Soon all were over the great drift. Gandalf took the lead once more, and slowly, they descended downwards.

That night, they took council. Perrin knew of the dwarf's longing for his ancestral home, and it was eventually decided that since they could not go over the mountains, they would go under them. The King of Saldaea could smell the nervousness among the company, but he could see no other choice. Legends of fear were not the same as a mountain that could kill them or a wizard that wanted to trap them. Having made his decision, he put the others out of his mind. There was another task he needed to perform, one that he had not yet tried.

Walking away from the fire, he reached out with his mind, trying to find any wolves. He knew in this time, at least, they were dangerous, but he had to try, and here was a prime place, out in the deserted wilds of Middle Earth. His first attempt reached nothing, and he reached further, until his mind felt huge and swollen. Finally, he received a response.

He frowned. This seemed wrong and twisted. Pain and hate came from these signals, and an overwhelming desire for blood. No normal wolf projected such signals, and they were coming closer. With a shudder, he tore himself away. It was like linking with a Darkhound, if it was possible, and he felt dirty all over.

"Something comes," Perrin said, walking back to the fire. Just then, howls broke out all around them, and Perrin felt his hair stand up. This was no normal howl. There was death in it.

"Wargs," Aragorn said grimly, unsheathing Anduril. "Build up the fire!"

Perrin loosened the axe in his belt and let the wolf inside out, just a little. The weapon was broad and heavy, but like all dwarven work, keen of blade. Behind him, the fire blazed up, and he could see a hundred eyes. Pulling the axe forward, he snarled and leapt. He was Young Bull, and none of the Shadowbrothers could touch him!

Snapping jaws reached for him, and he spun away, axe parting through cursed flesh as though made for killing. He saw other two legs around him, with long teeth of steel, and a fire, burning the eyes. But all around were the Shadowbrothers, their teeth reaching for his throat. With a howl, he leapt high, and higher, soaring and falling, crashing to land and tear. The other two legs were his family, and he would protect them.

"Lad, lad," came a voice. "Are you alright? You fought almost like..." Gimli's voice snapped him back, and the axe clattered from his hand. He hadn't meant for the others to see, and now they all smelled afraid, and not of what could be outside the light of the fire. He had to explain. Slowly he did, and the fear smell increased.

"It was not something I asked for. Some wolfbrothers lost their humanity." He explained about Noam. "I am midway, half human, half wolf."

Faile patted his arm, and there was pride in her voice. "He is their king, as much as wolves have a king. When he called, they came. Because of them, the Last Battle was won. We have something like your wargs." In a clear, cold voice she spoke of the Darkhounds. "Wolves oppose them to the last breath."

It seemed many wanted to ask questions, especially the wizard, but he said only, "Let us sleep away the night." In a low voice, he came over to Perrin. "You had to explain. Everyone saw you, but don't bring it up again. Wolves here are evil, and wargs only more so. Your gift would not be seen as such."

Perrin already suspected as such, and said no more. Rolling himself in his blankets, he prayed wolves would not invade his dreams. Sadly, he had no such luck.

Faile was concerned for her husband. She could also feel the tension in the group, and knew it was the Ring trying to work its poison. It had stolen into her dreams, too, but she had pushed it away, the feeling, the temptation, the craving. She would be no Mordeth, dooming the Company to paranoia and eventual death.

She had caught her husband's nod, and knew why. She had seen Boromir's look. It was the same look some men had given her- until her dagger had come to rest at their throats. So he wanted the Ring. She would make sure he would not touch it. As they traveled toward the dwarven mines, she sized him up. He was truly a soldier, a skilled fighter easily her match, though his size made him slower. Next to Min, she was counted a skilled knife fighter, so if the worst came, a knife in the back would have to do the trick.

It was midafternoon on the second day that they came to a frowning wall, guarded by the largest holly she had ever seen. She knew there must be a door there, though she saw nothing. The dwarf started tapping with his axe, and Perrin stood, frowning out toward the lake. She turned back toward the doors. It was night now, and the moon peeked from behind the clouds. She caught her breath. Delicate, then bold, lines of silver traced across the rock, forming the outline of two doors. She came up to where Gandalf was standing and traced the writing and signs.

"I've learned a little of the language, but I am not sure of this script. What does it say?"

"It says, Durin, Lord of Moria. Speak, friend, and enter." Gandalf smiled at her, much like her uncles had when she was young. "The hammer is the symbol for Durin's house, and the star is for the House of Feanor. The Silverfoot, Celebrimbor, was Feanor's grandson."

So there had been trade between dwarf and elf at one time, here only among all places in Middle-Earth. She also had an idea about the writing. "So it is a password?" she said.

The wizard nodded. "Though I doubt Gimli knows it, after all these years. I know some, and I think the answer will be quite easy." The dwarf frowned, but said no word. Gandalf did, raising his staff. The first try did not work, nor the second. Faile could almost see the wizard's impatience rising, and now he was shouting, striking the doors with his staff. Even Tuon tried, using the meager amount of Power that she could draw. All to no avail.

Faile watched as the rest of the Company prepared to go into the mines, but her thoughts were on the password that held the doors shut. She liked mysteries, but this was one that vexed her. Merry and Pippin were also thinking, their normal chatter replaced by their chins resting on their hands.

Gandalf looked about to give up when Merry suddenly spoke. "Gandalf, what is the elven word for friend?"

Gandalf whirled around, his face breaking into a smile. "Of course! It's a riddle. Speak "friend" and enter." Raising his staff, he said, "Mellon!" At once, the cracking of stone could be heard, and the doors began to split. Faile picked up her pack, helped by Perrin's strong arm around her. Everyone else was ahead, and she had just put her foot on the first step when something wet and green slithered past her, and Frodo cried out.

At once she turned, to face a monstrosity. Light, but the beast was ugly. Twenty waving arms were crawling out of the water, trying to latch onto each member of the Company. Her daggers came into her hand without thought, and she threw them true. Frodo dropped to the ground and scrambled backward. A ball of fire flew over her head, small, but hot enough for her to feel the heat. The water monster made a roar and rose fully out of the water. She could see its eyes now and its many toothed mouth.

"Shoot for the eyes!" she shouted desperately, but Legolas was already firing. One gnarled eye went dark, and it began to slither back under the water, taking Frodo with it. That couldn't happen, but Aragorn was already moving. Anduril flashed, and the tentacle flew up in the air. Perrin dashed into the circle, catching the hobbit.

Above the noise of battle, Gandalf's voice was thunder. "Into the mines!" he shouted. "Quickly."

Faile retreated, shouting for her husband to do the same. She ran up the steps into the darkness as more fireballs and arrows flew over her head. The tentacles followed, grabbing the doors and anything else they could reach, and with a mighty crash, the gate caved in. Sounds of destruction came from outside, then silence.

Slowly, a dim, pale light appeared, and Faile could see it came from the top of the wizard's staff. He threw out his hands toward the doors, but the spell did not move even a single rock. Faile was grateful for that. Better a walk in the dark than a monster from the Pit of Doom.

The wizard sighed. "Well, we are here. We must face the long dark of Moria. Be on your guard. There are older and fouler things than orcs in the deep places of the world."

Another light appeared, wavering. Faile looked behind her to see a globe of light in Tuon's hands. She nodded her thanks, and the Empress nodded back.

Slowly, they moved out. Faile knew some of the best warriors in two worlds were there, but she still felt uneasy. Why did it feel like she was walking into a tomb?


	7. Chapter 7- The Dark

Chapter 5- The Dark

Four days had passed since they had entered the mines, and Tuon was growing restless for the sun. She was far from angry, but unnerved. The vastness of the mines was beyond anything she had ever heard or known. How could anyone had done all of this? But done it they had.

To distract from the immensity, she decided to talk to the dwarf. "What did your people mine here?"

Gimli's eyes lit up. "Mithril, Empress," he said. "It could be beaten, and made into armor that could survive the arrows of the orcs. It shone like the moon, even in dark places." He waved the torch toward the wall, and Tuon could see the dim sparkle, like a forest of fireflies. This must be mithril dust. She reached out her hand and touched the points, staggered.

Gandalf, just ahead of them, picked up the story. "Bilbo had a coat of mithril armor that Thorin gave him. I wonder what happened to it."

"A coat of mithril?" Gimli gasped. "That was a kingly gift!"

"Yes. I never told him, but it was worth more than the Shire and everything in it."

Tuon was staggered as well. She was just getting over the thought of something so valuable when Gandalf's staff blazed up. She could no longer hide her shock and gasped aloud.

A long line of pillars, carved to look like trees, marched down the great hall as far as the eye could see. Their tops could not be seen, hidden in shadow as they were. Now she saw fully the splendor of the dwarf-kingdom, even in ruin, and she looked at Gimli in a new light. The great hall would not be out of place in Seander.

Real light stabbed down from hidden skylights high above, and Tuon was drawn, going carefully in case of pits or enemies in the darkness. But the dwarf had run ahead of her, seeing something she now saw. A box, carved with the runes she had come to know. Why did it seem so ominous to her? She followed more slowly, her eyes scanning. She felt Matrim's hand tighten. So he felt it too.

Soon she saw the source of the disquiet. Skeletons lay all around the small chamber, the round, hard skulls of dwarves and others she did not know, their teeth crooked and warped. These had to be orcs. Slowly, she approached the box, letting Gandalf lead.

"Balin son of Fundin, Lord of Moria," Gandalf said softly. "He is dead then. It is as I feared."

Gimli bowed his head in grief, and she stood respectfully. A kinsman should be able to mourn his fallen. Had she not also mourned at Semirhage's treachery? Gently, she placed a hand on the dwarf's shoulder. He shuddered, but did not turn or move away.

Matrim tapped her shoulder, and she turned. A heavy book lay in the hand of one of the dwarf skeletons, stained with red and black blood. The wizard was already there, gently taking up the book. He looked as though he wished to open it, but instead handed it reverently to the dwarf. "A record of the colony, I guess," he said. "Dain will want to see this." Gimli took it with a nod of thanks, tucking it into his pack.

"We cannot linger," Boromir said. "We must move on, out of these mines. They are only a trap now."

Tuon agreed, and was just standing again when she heard the deep beat of drums. She was startled, but then she turned grim. The beat came again, then dimly, the sound of marching feet.

Aragorn ran to the doors and began to wedge them shut. Matrim, the elf, and Lord Tam readied their arrows, while the rest drew their blades. Tuon reached for the Power, trying to find light in the midst of darkness. She did, and held ready the weave for a ball of fire. She had attacked the water monster without thinking, but now she had to be careful. It was important she made every fireball count, as she was already weary from the long march through the mines.

Legolas watched the dark woman carefully. She had already proved herself, and he no longer shared Boromir's doubts. However, she had the most to gain from the Ring. Gandalf had refused it. Would this tiny wizard refuse it as well?

He had to admit he was fascinated by her and her time. Whole schools of wizards? Many kingdoms of men? Worse yet, none of his kind? He knew elves were fading and men were rising, but to not even have a memory of the fair folk? He grimaced despite his curiosity. How could it be?

Attuned to elvish ways, he watched the one who said she was a queen. With his senses, he could feel power gathering around her. He had seen it three times now, and each time, he marveled. His people coaxed it from the earth and the sky, working in harmony with the elements. She commanded a weapon, a spear of light, bright even to his eyes. And she was only an apprentice? How strong then were masters of such magic? He had heard of the one named after a dragon. Almost the equal of one of the Valar he seemed, though one of mortal race.

But now they had to defend themselves. Drawing his bow, he loosed an arrow through a gap in the door, and heard a cry of pain from the other side. Then the doors fell.

Legolas, in splinters, saw and was amazed. Lord Tam and King Perrin shot as well as any man, almost as good as an elf, but Mat spun his spear as though he had been born to it. No orc seemed to touch him. No wonder Gandalf had called him a son of battles! Tuon seemed to think better of throwing her fire, though she still held her magic tightly around her. Now she danced, if battle could be called a dance, back to back with Queen Faile. Daggers appeared and disappeared in their hands, and where one appeared, orcs died. He could feel anger from the two of them, as though such monstrosities should have never been created. Gimli stood on his kinsman's tomb, axes spinning in his hands, cursing in dwarfish, and Boromir and Aragorn were wielding their swords with deadly effect. Even the hobbits were fighting, Sam using his frying pan to bash in the faces of any orcs who came close to him or his master. Seeing how all fought, Legolas thought they might win free.

Then the cave trolls came in. Everyone paused, sizing up this new threat. Legolas smiled and shot two arrows at the eyes of one, while the others leaped into action. The trolls were hard to kill, but eventually they fell. So did Frodo, pinned to the wall by a trident. Legolas' heart fell. They were counting on the Ringbearer to make it through, and would they now have to choose someone else to take his place?

Gandalf motioned them on when all the orcs were slain, but Legolas waited until all were out, holding the body of Frodo in his arms. Tam waited, also, then walked backward, bow at the ready, his eyes sharp to cover the retreat. Legolas smiled. More than his leadership in the snows, it showed who the older man was. Across all times, the rule seemed to be the same- be the last to leave the battlefield. Their eyes met, and Legolas understood.

Lightly, Tam took Frodo from the elf. "Your people are better archers than men," he said. "Cover our defense." Frodo stirred in his arms, and Tam looked at him in amazement. Frodo spoke. "I am alright. Put me down."

Legolas wondered, but cries echoed behind him. Letting Tam and Frodo run ahead, he walked backwards, bow at the ready. Arrows plinked around him at first, then lessened. Maybe Mat was firing back?

Gandalf led them down stairs, then more stairs, and still more stairs. The orc archers were silent now, but below them, the light began to redden. Legolas was nervous. If the lower levels were on fire, they would never get out. Still he ran, following the tall hat of their leader.

Suddenly Gandalf turned, and so did Legolas. What he saw made his bow fall from his hand.

Mat could see the doors ahead, across a long, railless bridge. He smiled grimly. He knew a choke point when he saw one. If they could made it across, they would be safe from all but arrows. It was hard to see in the dark, but he was sure he had hit some of the enemy archers. Maybe no more would come.

'And maybe not,' said the soldier's part of his mind. He knew there were no guarantees in battle, especially with such enemies.

He nearly ran into Gandalf as he stopped and turned. Mat also turned and gulped. Something was coming down the passageway. It was tall and cloaked and shadow, and darkness seemed to flow in front of it. He shot some arrows at it, even as he did so remembering the pictures in Elrond's library. He knew what it was now, and shivered.

"This is a foe beyond any of you," Gandalf said. "Across the bridge!" Mat wasn't about to argue and ran, taking the lead in case there were any enemies outside the doors. Once over, he made sure everyone followed. Aragorn was the last, and he stood with Mat, looking back toward Gandalf.

The wizard stood on the bridge, sword and staff outstretched, and Mat could feel the air crackle with the dark power and light facing each other. This was a battle to the death, and as Mat watched, the shadow burst into flame, a whip of fire in one hand and a glowing sword in the other.

Gandalf's voice rolled like thunder, booming through the fire. "You shall not pass! I am a wielder of the Secret Fire, keeper of the Flame of Anor. The dark will not avail you, flame of Udun!" His staff blazed up, and if possible, the shadow grew even greater, until it stretched from wall to wall. The fiery sword came down, and Gandalf's rang in answer. Sparks flew through the cave, and Mat found himself stumbling back, hoping the wizard's power would be enough.

"You shall not pass!" Gandalf cried, bringing his staff down. At his feet, the bridge broke, and the dark flame cried and fell. Gandalf turned toward them, stumbling in weariness, but the dark chasm was still hungry. The end of the Balrog's shining whip came up, wrapping around the wizard's ankle. He was dragged to the edge. Mat ran forward, but Aragorn's arm held him back.

Gandalf hesitated for a long moment, hands grabbing at the edge. "Fly, you fools," he said, and then was gone. As though in anger, the rest of the bridge fell.

Mat put his arm around Tuon, who looked ready to weep. He had felt his medallion grow cold. He knew she had helped the wizard, with all of her ability, and she looked exhausted. Mat felt his own tears, remembering a dock far away and two women fighting. He hadn't known then he would rescue Moiraine. But could Gandalf survive such a fall? Mat didn't think even Rand could, and he was only one step below the Creator.

Aragorn spoke. "I will lead you now," he said. "Come."

Mat held Tuon's hand as they ran for the gates. They had to get out. They could cry later, and he knew that. But as they ran, he silently wept. He had never wanted to take the mines, and now Gandalf was no more. He had liked the gruff old man, and he had led them well. His council, his wisdom, and his laughter would be missed. It would never be replaced. For the first time since starting the journey, he wished for more Aes Sedai. They needed more protection.

Teslyn had been in a shock when Mat and Tuon had faded away, but she was not in shock long. There were always other sisters in the palace, and Teslyn had immediately consulted them, then sent a message to the Amyrlin. Sending word to the Black Tower, she had requested the assistance of Logain and his Asha'man. They had pored over the ground, searching for any clues, but had been as puzzled as her sisters. Then Grady had popped in with his own news.

Now both White Tower and Black roiled like a kicked anthill. Everyone wondered who might be the next to be taken, and the Thirteenth Depository had been turned inside out, searching for clues. Cadsuane had been stern, sealing the matter to the Flame, but even the novices were chattering, knowing that something was wrong.

Somehow, the news had reached Rand, and even he had come out of his isolation to look at both places. He was still a legend, and though he could no longer channel, it was hoped he could do something. Sadly, he had shook his head. "They are lost to me," he said. "It as though their threads have been snipped out of the Pattern."

That was news no one wanted to hear, for privately, both Logain and Cadsuane knew that Rand could now see the Pattern with his waking eyes if he so chose. To see that he could not find his friends...

But that was not all. Ebou Dar, as home of the Seanchan, boiled with a hundred rumors, each one wilder than the last. Teslyn knew some suspected her of hiding the Empress so she could put one of her own on the Crystal Throne, and she now had bodyguards to guard her when she went out.

Min helped her, trying to hold the crumbling alliance together. Both of them still shared the dream of restoring order to the lands on the other side of the ocean, but without their Empress, the reverse Haline had ground to a halt. The only ones Teslyn felt she could trust were the Deathwatch Guard and the Gardeners, who kept the Tarasin Palace secure. She knew they needed answers, and needed them soon.

She was pondering all this in the garden when a gateway opened and a messenger came through, a novice by her white dress. She dipped her head. "Teslyn Sedai, the Mother requests your presence."

Teslyn nodded and stepped through the gateway, to the court of the White Tower. Never had she seen it so packed, and with more than novices or Accepted. The black coats of the Asha'man were everywhere, and more seemed to be arriving all the time. It was unprecedented, but so was what had happened.

She made her way through the crowd, searching for a friendly face. She soon saw Moiraine, huddled with a circle of Blues. Thom hovered by her protectively. So she had bonded the Bard, had she? Teslyn admitted it was a good choice. The Gray Fox would do well for her.

Moiraine raised her eyes. "Teslyn," she said. "How goes it in Ebou Dar?"

Teslyn faced the living legend. Next to Rand, she was famous for her work against the Shadow. She knew she owed the Blue her respect, and the truth. "Not as well as I would like," she said. "I would like to bring Mat and Tuon back. Was there any luck here at the Tower?"

Thom shook his head. "No." His voice was gravelly with sorrow. "Not a shred was found, not even in the secret records."

Teslyn sighed. "So a council has been called. And the Asha'man came too." She was still Red, and old habits died hard. "Why?"

Moiraine nodded, understanding. "Because this concerns them too. Do you think they want disorder after having caused so much?"

Teslyn couldn't argue with the logic. Five nobles being snatched was not something the world needed so soon after the Last Battle. Of course the Black Tower would try to help. She still sniffed, however, showing her displeasure. A single bell rung, and they passed in, climbing up the stairs, Aes Sedai, Asha'man and Warders following.

Teslyn had a feeling of change as she walked in to the place where Cadsuane sat, her Keeper behind her. Three Amyrlins in two years was unprecedented. She had served one, the traitor Elaida. How had she been so blind? Now she was aware of more than the grasping for power and the hunt for men who could channel.

Logain came in from a side door. She could feel the menace there, should he choose to use it. But his face was puzzled and grief-stricken, not angry as she had expected. His Power was muted as he spoke briefly with Cadsuane, then she raised her hand. The Keeper tapped once on the floor with her staff, and the meeting began.

Teslyn spoke everything she knew, as did the Asha'man Jur Grady. Cadsuane asked some questions of them both, then opened the floor to the sisters and the Asha'man who had come. It was a lively debate, but it soon became fruitless.

"And the Dragon cannot feel them in the Pattern?" Elayne asked. Teslyn was one of the few that knew her and Rand were lovers, but here, she was all formality, every inch a queen. Teslyn wanted to ask her own questions of Andor's ruler, but declined. She knew she would do anything to bring back her friends, especially the rascalous Mat.

"His own words were that their threads almost seemed lost." This was from Nynaeve. Lan stood behind her, hand on his hilt, every inch the Warder. "I believed him. I know little of his new ability, but he has never been known to lie, let alone about something so important."

Elayne bowed her head. "Can we expect another such disappearance? The Dragon's Peace hangs on a thread."

"No one knows," Cadsuane said. "I..." Suddenly she looked straight at Teslyn. "Hold her!" she shouted. Teslyn felt as though she was looking through a tunnel at a miniature version of the Amyrlin. She felt saidar around her, and a strange current she took for saidan. Then it all faded. She found herself on the side of a mountain, facing a cave. A group was huddled by the entrance. Six men, two women, a strange man-like creature, and four short figures she took for boys stood there, and some looked familiar. One, especially. She marched over to him, hands on hips. "Matrim Cauthon, do you mind telling me where I am?" she demanded.


	8. Chapter 8- The Golden Wood

**A/N- I have to apologize for the time since I have posted. I have had some computer problems, and so I have not been able to post as I wish to. I have not abandoned this story. In fact, I have a log of chapters to post. We now come to one of my favorite characters from the WoT, the Red Aes Sedai, Teslyn. I think I like her because she is more practical, and less about power.**

 **Also, some may wonder if the characters from WoT have been taken to a different Age, or a whole different world. Remember, the WoT universe is called the Wheel of Time for a reason. I don't imagine Mat, Perrin et al can imagine anything else. This chapter should give the definitive answer to that question. We will know something none of the characters do. Sometimes, it is fun to play God. =)**

 **And now, on to the show.**

Aragorn looked at the woman who had appeared out of thin air. Mat started laughing, as though at the entrance of an old friend. This had to be Teslyn, the woman who advised the Empress. She wore a dark red dress, slashed with black, and she wore an expression that made him feel like he was ten years old again, sneaking lembas bread from Galadriel's kitchen.

"I don't know the half myself," Mat said. "And there will be time for stories later. Right now, we have someone who is injured, and we need to get off that mountain." He pointed first to Frodo, who was wincing and rubbing his chest, and then to the sun, which was just touching the peaks.

The Lady Teslyn nodded. "Your companions first." Mat named them quickly, with an eye to the sun, and Aragorn privately agreed. They had to move. But she was looking at him in a new light. He stared back, letting a little of the Numenorean show, and she nodded, her eyes understanding.

"I may be able to Travel off this mountain," she said. "I do not know the land well enough, not yet. Still, I think I can do something for your injured friend." She paused, and Aragorn felt a crackle in the air as she gathered power. If Tuon was a candle, Teslyn was a roaring bonfire, a storm so bright he almost had to blink.

Frodo leaned away from her. Aragorn didn't blame him. Her power could heal, then kill. Or kill and heal. Aragorn held up a hand and motioned that Frodo should trust her. Doubt in his eyes, he let her approach. Teslyn knelt down gently, almost as though she was willing him to trust her. She muttered something too low for Aragorn to hear, then placed a hand on the hobbit's head.

He arched backwards, and shivered as though he had been plunged in Silverlode. But Aragorn could see that he breathed easier. Teslyn pulled back, her face a shade paler. Mat helped her sit on a rock.

"I have taken Frodo's physical injuries," she said. "But there are things I feel..." she spat in disgust. "I feel foul. Not that Frodo is evil, but something in him, or on him, should not be."

So she felt, with her power, the twisting of the Ring. And already knew it for evil. Aragorn breathed out a sigh of relief, then came over to her. Already she had recovered, but he helped her to her feet. "How do you heal without herbs?" he asked, curious.

"If Tuon has used her abilties, you know about the Power." Aragorn nodded. "Some of us have greater skill with Healing, or with Traveling. I am counted a master at both. Tuon, though, is a woman of war. Her culture and her training have made it so." She paused. "The energy I took for healing is partly from him. He will need to gain it back. I advise some herbs, or a small meal, if we can spare the time."

Aragorn was nervous, but nodded, seeing the sense of what she said. He crushed water, mixing in some more athelas, and made Frodo drink it. He also shared out some dried bread and cheese, enough for the Company to take the edge of their hunger. Then he led them on again.

He wondered if he should share with her about the Ring and their Quest, then decided it would be wise. Teslyn seemed hard, even grim, but there was no evil about her, and her healing of Frodo had come freely, without grudging. He knew she had to feel the effect of the Ring. All humans did. But with her power, she still realized the evil Frodo carried. It was that that decided his mind more than all else.

Briefly, then, he gave a short account of the Council. Teslyn listened wide-eyed. "So..." she said. "So if the Ring is destroyed, Sauron will die?"

"A Maiar cannot die," Aragorn said. "But he will be reduced to a shadow, impotent, unable to ever again take shape. His evil will never again trouble the world."

"There is a saying in the Borderlands." Teslyn said. "Death is lighter than a feather, duty heavier than a mountain. This price is worth paying, I think. Still, I think we should be wise. Perhaps we can Travel to Mordor, and avoid the walk. Sauron could be defeated before he even knew what was on his doorstep."

Mat shook his head. "I was at Shayol Ghul, Teslyn. I am sure there are orcs and worse guarding the source of this dark spirit's power, as there were Trollocs and Darkhounds at the Pit of Doom. No, Teslyn. I do not believe that is the path we should take."

Aragorn nodded. Tuon had told him of the ability to bend space, but he agreed with Lord Mat. It was a chance better not to take, and said so. Teslyn nodded. "But there are other things we might be able to do. I will think as I learn more of this land."

"What say you?" Aragorn said to Tuon suddenly, turning his eyes on the dark queen. "Should I tell all? This woman advises you."

Tuon was surprised at the question. She thought carefully, schooling her eyes to reveal none of her thoughts. If they were going into danger, they would want the fiery Red. She could open a gateway, and she knew Healing. Further, she had freely served the Seanchan court, despite once being damane. And once being damane would keep her from succumbing to the evil of the Ring.

She nodded once. "Yes. She will aid you greatly." She saw relief in Aragorn's shoulders. She knew that of all of them, he missed Gandalf the most. She knew the Ranger would lead them, but she also knew he was divided in two directions- to deliver the kingdoms of men or guiding Frodo to Mordor.

"I'll guide him," she whispered. "If I have to, I will go." She meant it. She liked the little man, and was amazed at his courage. She was sure Teslyn would also come, if Aragorn could not. Her tone of voice showed she was already fitting herself into the plans.

She reached out to see if the Aes Sedai was holding the Power. She was. Tuon looked up. The woods were far away, but they would reach the forest the next day. Until then, they had to be careful. Unconsciously, she reached for the Power, simply holding it.

"We are out of the reach of the mountains now," Aragorn said. They had come to a stream, chattering noisily in its bed. "Across the Nimrodel, and we will camp tonight. I know you are all weary."

Tuon thought it was good to get across the stream. Carefully, she removed her shoes, given by Arwen, and waded into the water, Mat's arm around her to support her. As she waded across, her weariness seemed to fall away, and her feet seemed to tingle. Was this a magic stream, then? Aragorn smiled at her. "You feel the magic of the water, Empress. Nimrodel is a refreshment to the weary."

Later, around a small fire, he told the story of Amroth, his voice slow and sad, a counterpoint to the stream. This was elvish territory, and the song did not seem out of place. Tuon learned more of the life of the elves, and then wondered at Aragorn and Arwen.

"Lord Aragorn," she said hesitantly. "The one you love, Arwen. You are mortal. She is not. How will it be if you wed? And your children. Will they share your mortality, or her eternity?"

Aragorn leaned forward slightly. "She has chosen the life of a mortal," he said slowly. "Our children will be also. But I am in direct descent from the kings of Numenor, and have a life span three times that of normal men. Our children will also live long."

Teslyn spoke next. "And your kin? Do they also have long lives?"

"Yes. My kinsmen Halbarad is nearly as old as I, and still looks to be a young man. I am nearly ninety years old in the years of my people."

Tuon was stunned. Aragorn still looked in the prime of life, with the barest hint of grey in his hair. But here, the young face and body came not from ability, but from lineage. She knew some of the history of Numenor and the kingdoms in exile, but was still surprised. Mat squeezed her hand, and she knew what he was thinking. She would live long after him, the first Empress that could channel. And he was telling her it did not matter. She loved him, but now loved him more.

Aragorn set the watch, and Teslyn volunteered to sit with him. Tuon knew why. She wanted to know more, and Aragorn was the one to tell her. She and Mat volunteered for the second watch. As they lay down, wrapped in their blankets, Tuon thought such a simple life was growing on her. Strange and terrible creatures there might be, but not the poison hidden and the Seanchan court.

Faile and Perrin had volunteered for the third watch, and Faile woke instantly when Tuon nudged her. They had barely set the watch when an arrow point came to rest at her throat. The rest of the company was instantly awake, and Legolas had his bow drawn almost before he could speak. From the trees above, an elf dropped down.

Faile had met elves in Rivendell, many of them, but they were grave and scholarly, given to learning and knowledge. This was an elf like Legolas, a warrior of warriors. She knew she had not even a chance to use her knives, and lowered her hands. From the trees above her dropped two more elves like the first.

Legolas stepped forward and spoke in a strange, rolling tongue, like the Elvish she had learned at Rivendell, yet very different. It was full of the woods, and full of music.

Surprisingly, the elf lowered his bow. "You are the company that came out of Moria," the first elf said. "We have been shadowing you since you crossed the stream. We will take you before the Lady, but it is too far to walk tonight. Orcs are massing on the slopes of the mountains, and it is not safe to sleep on the ground. Come."

He motioned, and the two elves ran ahead into the forest. She looked around. Boromir was hanging back. "Is there no other way?" he said. "We hear stories of this forest, and few of them are pleasant." Faile could sympathize. They had taken strange paths. But she trusted the elves.

Aragorn looked as though he did understand, but he also shook his head. "No. Not unless you wish to go through the mountains alone."

Boromir shrugged and followed. The elf introduced himself as Haldir, the marchwarden of Lorien. Faile marked him. He was a captain, by the way he walked and spoke. His alert demeanor reminded her of her father, and she blinked back a tear. She still missed him. Perrin, ever attentive to her moods, put an arm around her shoulder, and she continued on.

Soon they stopped at a tree like any other. A rope ladder snaked down. "The halflings and the man of Gondor, and Aragorn may share one platform. The four that are married can share another, and the rest can share one more. We will bring blankets and food."

Now it was her turn to hesitate. "I have never slept in a tree," she said.

"Nor I," Perrin said. "Still, I trust these elves. I can feel and smell no evil here. And a tree will give more protection than the ground."

It was enough for Faile. Burying her and Perrin's packs in a drift of leaves, she climbed up, Perrin behind her in case she slipped. It was a stable platform, though she wished there was a screen. She wrapped herself in the cloak she had brought from Rivendell and watched as Mat came up, Tuon following behind. In the next tree over, she could hear Sam grumbling at the height, and Boromir's heavy tread, while on the other side, Gimli was trying to flirt with Teslyn. She smiled. If it wasn't for the strange world, she could almost think she was part of a company, doing maneuvers in Saldaea.

Soon the elves were back, food in their hands and blankets on their shoulders. Faile tried to follow the speech, but could not. She could only smile and nod, and that seemed to be enough. Soon she was asleep, Perrin's arm over her, while the elf sat a branch above, keeping guard.

In the grey of morning she woke up. The elf was gone, and harsh marching and voices were heard. She knew those voices from Moria, and was glad they had taken shelter in the trees. Soon Haldir reappeared, throwing down the ladder to the platform, That woke everyone else up.

"Don't fear," the marchwarden said. "There was a troop, but our guards are leading them into the trees. None will return to Moria. Still, as soon as it is fully light, we must go on."

Soon they left. Faile marveled at the beauty of the woods, and the whole company seemed to relax, even the stiff Boromir. Still, she was watchful. She heard singing, and watched the trees. She couldn't see the elves, but knew they were there, somewhere. It was an unnerving feeling, even knowing they were there for the Company's protection. So they passed on, through the woods toward Caras Galadhon, the city of the Elves.

Boromir was nervous, though he tried to hide it. He had all along wanted to go along the borders of his own country. Yes, he knew about Saruman, but he still thought Gandalf had been afraid. With the five warriors from another time, how could they have lost? He had seen them fight- and the one named Mat deserved the name Son of Battles. Even the women, nobles as they might be, had fought with a ferocity equal to any soldier of Gondor. But Gandalf had insisted, and fallen.

And they were entering into the dark woods of Lorien, on their way to destroy the Ring. The Ring. It was to be destroyed, but his father would want it. His father, that he loved. His father, that had long defended Gondor against the enemy. Why not use Sauron's weapon against him? Maybe the elves would fall, maybe the wizards, but not true men of Gondor.

The Ring called, promising victory. But since the time on the mountain, he could not even get close to Frodo. Someone was always between them, and his trained eyes showed no sign of conspiracy, though he knew there had to be. He was simply...separated from his prize.

And now he was climbing the flet, to meet with the Witch of the Golden Wood. He wanted to run, but he followed slowly, the last in line, and entered. Boromir's eyes were instantly drawn to the Lady Galadriel. She shone, and at once, a voice was in his head.

 _Be not afraid, son of Gondor. You have nothing to fear here_. It was clear and cool, like the sound of waterfalls in Henneth Annun. As he thought of his brother's stronghold, all thought of the Ring disappeared, and he heaved a sigh of relief.

Now the Lady spoke. "Where is Gandalf, for I much desire to speak with him."

"Into Moria he fell," Aragorn said slowly, "fighting with a Balrog of Morgoth. He saved us."

Was it just Boromir, or did the Lord Celeborn stiffen? "If I had known this evil was in the mountains..."

Galadriel touched his hand. "Do not take back your welcome of the dwarf. Would you not want to see the land of Lorien, though it had become the abode of dragons?"

Boromir smiled. He felt the same way about the White City. But the Lady was still speaking. "The Quest stands on the edge of a knife. But it will succeed as long as the Company holds true." Slowly, she turned her gaze on all of the Company, one by one. Each of them stiffened and reddened but Aragorn. Suddenly her gaze turned to him, and he felt pinned to the wall, worse yet, exposed, as though he stood in only his skin.

His gaze filled with images. Him marching to victory, and Mordor freed from darkness, Barad-Dur only a heap of rubble. Him killing orcs, unstoppable. Him sitting, a crown on his head, pronouncing stern judgments. A voice echoed in his head. _You want it. Step aside, and all can be yours. Use your power. Use it!_

Boromir shuddered and blinked. Again the silver and gold of mallorn trees surrounded him, and he wondered. Was it the Ring talking, or was it a test?

"Now go, rest, for you are weary with toil and much trouble." Galadriel's words were sad but strong, words of dismissal. As he left the flet, Boromir wondered how she knew of his desire. He would not rest until he left this strange land, and he would guard his heart carefully.

Teslyn had also been tested, but for her, the Seanchan were driven into the Sea, and Tuon wore the collar. Teslyn shivered when she came to herself. She did not know such thoughts were still inside of her. Whether it was the Ring, or the voice of Galadriel, she did not care. She knew revenge could doom the whole Quest.

She had heard enough from Aragorn to know what was at stake, and she also knew she could become another Forsaken if she chose. Of course the Ring would offer such thoughts! She rejected them firmly, clearing her mind, and stepped beside the king in exile.

"Lord Aragorn," she said with emphasis on the Lord. "I know Gondor is where the stroke will fall the hardest. But are there other kingdoms? What about this Shire? Can I be of service elsewhere?"

Aragorn smiled. "My people already protect the Shire, but yes, there are others. Erebor and Dale, Mirkwood, Rohan, perhaps even the kingdoms of the South and East not yet under Sauron's spell. Where would you like to go?"

Teslyn smiled at his trust. She loved the Hobbits, but did not feel it was her place to go with Frodo to Mordor. "I will stay here, at least until you leave. When you do, if not earlier, I will make my final decision. Perhaps the elf or dwarf, if they convince me why I should go to their homelands." She knew those two had a grudge against each other, and their arguing would tell her more than their flattery. She smiled as those started to speak over each other, their voices quickly rising. She had decided already, but no one needed to know her decision yet. She moved toward the hobbits protectively. The thought of such little people being treated like cattle burned her heart. It would be worse than the collar! However, that did not mean she couldn't help elsewhere. She needed maps, and those would come with time.

They had reached the ground once more, and she stopped dead. Standing there was a woman dressed in blue, a man wearing the strange cloak of his order, and a tall figure, his coat hiding books. She knew all three.

"Moiraine," she whispered.

Moiraine had started when Teslyn had disappeared right in front of her nose. She had also tried to grab her, even drawing on the angreal she carried. But it was no use. Teslyn was gone, and she had shivered. Whoever was stealing men and women, it treated the Power as a child's toy. Not even the Forsaken had been so strong.

Cadsuane had immediately locked down the chambers. Each person there had been tested on the Oath Rod, Logain doing the same for the Asha'man. All had been pronounced clean, untouched by the Dark One. Not that it mattered. Moiraine already knew that she would find nothing.

She had approached Cadsuane. "There is one avenue left to us. I want to talk to the Ogier. They are a race foreign to this world, and they have long memories. Perhaps they can help."

Cadsuane nodded. "Don't be gone long, daughter," she said. "I need you to help keep a lid on this mess."

So Moiraine had gated over to Stedding Shangtai, where Loial lived in wedded bliss with Erith, completing his account of the second War of Power. At Loial's recommendation, all the Elders had been brought together to one stedding, and there at the Stump, the debate had begun. It was true, the Ogier had long memories, and many records, but Moiraine soon saw they could not help.

"Could it be the beginning of a new war?" Thom said. They were sitting with Erith, while Loial looked one more time through the records.

Moiraine didn't think so. Something in her heart told her that all who had been taken had been needed, somewhere, somehow. She explained to Thom about the worlds of if, and Thom nodded. "Maybe the Stones..." he said. "Maybe because of what Rand did to seal the Dark One, the Pattern is out of balance. I don't know these things, but Rand went to a world of if."

"Yes, but it takes the Power to activate the Stones, and they must be present," Moiraine said. Still, how much did they really know? The Age before the Age of Legends was almost wholly a mystery. Maybe the Stones were not even meant to be used by the Power. Thom caught her expression and was about to answer when she felt as though she was floating. Thom looked alarmed and grabbed her, and Loial, just entering, was caught up in the sudden wind that seemed to blow everywhere. The world faded away, and the woods of the stedding were replaced with other trees, these ones golden and silver, with delicate, pale leaves.

She looked up, and now knew where the nobles and Teslyn had gone. All of them looked like they had seen bliss and pain in equal measure, and her heart went out to them. Here, the Power shone bright, almost as though it was pure light. She was reminded of Rand when she was at Shayol Ghul, when the Dark One had met his defeat. That, though, had been a weapon, a sword the size of a mountain. This was a gentle light, as though coming from the earth itself. Absently, she passed a fireball from hand to hand.

Moiraine knew she was royalty, but she dipped her head low as a tall, golden haired woman approached. Moiraine instantly knew she was the queen of this place.

"I am Galadriel," she said. "It seems the Valar shine on us. Are you like the other worker of magic, Teslyn?"

Moiraine blinked. The queen was calling her a magic user, but her voice said she did not disapprove. In fact, she heard a faint note of approval and respect. She thought of how to answer, and instantly knew she could not lie. She could almost feel eyes on her mind, watching with curiosity.

"I am. There are schools for those with the ability, one for men, and one for women. The power we use is alike and not for each gender. However, only lately have men joined us, for reasons rooted in our history and the wars that we have fought. If you please, we can discuss this more." She paused. "I am also interested in the power I feel here, though I suspect you do not want it to be called magic."

Galadriel's face darkened. "I do not," she said. "It is used for the deceits of our enemy, though your ignorance is forgiven. We, the Quendi, are far different than mortal men."

Moiraine's mouth dropped. She knew the implications of what the golden queen had said. Since before the Age of Legends, men had been searching for the source of eternal life. The Dark One had promised, and delivered, to his chosen servants, but most were not willing to join evil to live forever. Here was a race that had it naturally, and without the aid of darkness.

Through the bond, Moiraine could feel Thom's shock as well. "Do you mean you have seen..." he managed.

"Yes. Three Ages I have walked this earth."

"I am a..." Thom seemed to struggle for the words. "A storyteller. A bard, if you know the word. And my tall friend here is a recorder of history. He recently completed an account of our own Age. If we could learn from you..." Moiraine could almost hear him pleading, and felt some desire of her own.

The eyes on her mind were amused now, though Moiraine could feel an undercurrent of pain. "Our loremasters would be happy to share with you," Galadriel said. "And I would be glad to speak to you more, Lady Moiraine. But for now, rest with the rest of your company."

Moiraine knew a dismissal, and nodded her head. She would have many questions on top of questions. She would start with those she knew.

Frodo was walking slowly, his eyes downcast, still grieving. He wanted to give up the Ring, weary of the long journey, but he knew he could not yet. That Gandalf had died did not do anything for his hopes. Even the appearance of two more magic users, these two much stronger than the Empress, only seemed to underline his grief. Moiraine was a gatherer of information, but he did not feel much like talking, letting the others speak.

Sam came beside him. "I miss him too," he said. "But the Quest must go on." Frodo liked Sam. He was always a fount of encouragement, and had a stubborn, stony personality that did not allow him to give up. Frodo smiled at him.

"The one that just came is a King's cousin!" Sam said. "She said so. And she was a leader on their world." Frodo knew the difference between the Ringwraiths and the Forsaken, but to him, bowing to evil was bowing to evil. "She killed two of the Forsaken. By herself! She almost killed a third but she came back later. Can you believe it?"

"Could she kill the Ringwraiths?" Frodo wondered. Strider had chased them off, but even Lord Elrond seemed to think that they would not die so easily.

"I can try," a voice said from behind them. Moiraine sat there, her husband beside her.

"Begging your pardon," Sam said, leaping up and bowing. "We were just..."

Moiraine smiled, waving a hand as though it was nothing. "You have a great burden, Frodo," she said. "I would like to help, if I can. I am not as powerful as the day when I went through the redstone door, but I might be able to help in some small way."

Frodo smiled. "Thank you, Lady Moiraine. At times, my burden is heavy. It is a pain to me. Also, I have wounds that do not seem to heal."

"My sister, Teslyn, says she has already tried, and she has more skill than I. However," she paused, and Frodo felt the crackle of foreign power. She reached out gently and touched him. A blanket, warm and soothing, seemed to settle on him, and his burden was less.

"I have put a warding on you," Moiraine said. "As long as I am close, the influence of the Ring will be lessened. It will not be removed completely, but you should be able to breathe more easily. Too, I wish to learn more about this Ring. Perhaps there is an easier way to destroy it."

"Balefire?" Thom asked, sitting beside her. Frodo heard about the strange bond these magicians had. Why should a magician need a protector? But to know each other's thoughts so well...it was a gift.

"Maybe," Moiraine said. "Powers are different here, and the Ring is different than anything I have ever heard of. It might be a success, it might not." Frodo did not understand what they were talking about, but he did understand her wanting to try. Still, something in him did not want to give it up. Was the Ring already beginning it's work on him?

He looked up as the rest of the Company came in, the huge, troll-like creature last. But Loial was no troll. He reminded himself of that as that deep voice rang out. "I have never been in such a wood. It is like the whole forest is sung wood. It is like..."

"Like a stedding, Loial," Perrin said. "Except the Power can still be used here."

"Yes," Loial rumbled. "The elves made the wood. If they were gone, the wood would be no more than trees. I can almost feel..." he went to the nearest mallorn, putting a hand against it. "They almost thank the elves."

"I thought only the elves loved the trees," Legolas said. He was smiling. "But the Ogier can sing. The whole wood vibrates at his words. I've never heard such a voice."

Frodo smiled. The big creature was peaceful and calm, gentle and a lover of knowledge. Bilbo would love him, once he got used to the Ogier's size. Aragorn dropped beside Frodo. "I have been talking to the rest of the Company," he said, low for Frodo's ears alone. "Teslyn wishes to go to Minas Tirith, and Boromir with her. Loial wishes to stay here and protect the wood. The rest have agreed to go on with you."

Frodo nodded, watching the blue stone in Moiraine's dark hair twinkle and spark. She shook her head. "I do not believe it is my place to go with Frodo, not all the way." She spoke slowly. "I understand little of this war, but I believe Sauron craves power. Can he, would he, know of our abilities?"

"Soon or late," Aragorn said. "Lorien is protected by the Lady, but spies would know of our journey before long. And he would want you to fight for him."

"If we passed into Mordor, we would make Frodo a target," Moiraine said. "That must not happen. I don't believe Tuon should go either. I know her heart, some," she looked at the Empress, "and she is both bold and courageous. But she is not ready to face the Dark One."

"I am not your pupil, Aes Sedai," Tuon said, fire flashing in her eyes. Frodo thought they might come to blows, but Tuon lowered her eyes. Frodo was shocked. He knew enough to know that no ruler would ever lower her eyes. But she had.

"You faced the dark, Moiraine Sedai," she said formally. "I have not. It will be as you wish."

Frodo breathed out a sigh. He liked Tuon, and was growing to like Teslyn and Moiraine, and would have wanted them. But what Moiraine said made sense. The small, pale woman gripped his hand. "That does not mean we will abandon you," she said. "We will do all in our power to help."

Merry had stayed out of the deliberations. He knew his place, with Frodo. He would go to Mount Doom. But he nudged Pippin. "How is it that a bard marries a lady?" he asked. "Or a blacksmith marries a queen?"

Pippin spit a crumb out of his mouth. "Might ask how an elf marries a man."

"Beren did," Merry said. "And I don't think Aragorn is just any man."

Now Pippin sat up. "What are you getting at? There's a rumor an elf married the ancestor of the Tooks. It might explain why we are so adventurous. We keep ourselves separate, Merry, but maybe we are not as separate as we think."

Merry pondered that. Maybe they weren't, at that. But Thom had dropped down beside him. "Who is this Beren?" he said. "Perhaps I can set it to song."

Aragorn joined them. "It has been, but never by a mortal." Slowly, softly, he began to sing, and Thom strummed his harp. "Beren was a mortal," he began. Merry had heard the story before, but now he heard the mortal's point of view, as Beren strove to win a Silmaril from Morgoth's crown and in so doing, win the heart of the elf Luthien. So the story wound, with Thom's playing skillfully wound in.

"Then what happened?" Thom asked. All had gathered now, and were listening spellbound. Moiraine's eyes were shining, and even Teslyn had lost her stern expression. Loial was the only one that looked angry. Merry wondered. The big creature seemed a peaceful sort. Perrin and Faile, Mat and Tuon, clutched each other's hands, looking into each other's eyes, while Tam sat silently, hands on knees.

Aragorn's eyes darkened as he told of Thingol's greed, the Second Kinslaying, and the Ruin of Doriath. Thom's harp also darkened its tone, and Merry could almost feel the bloodlust of the Dwarves as they sacked the Thousand Halls. He looked up. Looming over the clearing, almost bright enough to light the ground, the Evening Star shone. Aragorn also looked up, and his smile was once again on his face as he told of Earendil's great victory.

"And so," Thom said, setting aside his harp. "His blood runs in your veins."

Mat now spoke, slowly, his eyes like fire. Pippin knew the former farmer acted more like a hobbit than a lord, and that he liked fun and food. He was a rogue at heart, though true-hearted, but now his eyes were grim.

"This story has not ended," he said. "A Silmaril might be beyond evil's reach, and Morgoth may be imprisoned, but Sauron is still free. If he is defeated, a great chain of darkness will be undone." He bowed to Frodo, low. Merry just had enough time to be startled when he spoke again. "By my hope of salvation and rebirth, I will not leave, or cease to fight, until Sauron is utterly defeated."

Merry's jaw dropped. He knew full well that in their time, it was the strongest oath that could be taken. He wondered if the others would also so swear. One by one, the Empress, the King and Queen, the Lord of the Two Rivers, the Blue Lady, the Gray Fox, the Ogier, and the Red Lady all bowed to Frodo, repeating the same oath. By the time Teslyn rose, it was dead silent. Even Aragorn's mouth was hanging open, and Boromir was staring at them as though he had not seen them before.

Pippin wondered how a bard could marry a queen. Now, at last, he thought he knew. But it was late, and his mouth was cracking with yawns. Perrin noticed and scooped him up as though he was a child, laying him down in a corner of the pavilion set aside for him. The last thing he heard before sleep claimed him was Thom asking for more tales, and Aragorn beginning the dark story of Turin Turambar.

Rand checked his small cottage one more time. He had made his dwelling away from civilization, near rebuilt Malkier, yet still in areas left barren by the retreating Blight. His gold had hired workmen and bought paintings. Apart from the daily necessities of life, he monitored the Pattern.

It had not always been so. He had spent several months gating around the world, chasing the new and exciting, before the weight of his new responsibility began to bear on him. It was impossible, of course, to watch the whole Pattern, but he could watch his friends, and the leaders of the White and Black towers, along with the different rulers. He was pleased. Even though he was no longer a ruler, rulers still followed his advice, and the Dragon's Peace had remained strong. He had appeared to those he loved, of course, but he would never influence events again.

So when he had felt threads snip, he had immediately gone on guard, fearing the Dark One. But no. Shayol Ghul still shone with light, and no trace of the Shadow could be seen. He doubted the Dark One could even call a cockroach, let alone make a ruler disappear. No, this was something else. Then more had vanished.

Now he was worried. Normally, after chores and a simple meal, he was exhausted, but now his sleep was restless. Suddenly he was dreaming, or so he thought. A land spread out below him, a golden, peaceful land surrounded by a wall of mountains. Toward those mountains he now flew, specifically to its highest peak. A wide hall was there, and on the hall was a balcony. On the balcony stood a man and woman, or so he thought them to be.

"Welcome, Rand al'Thor," the man said. His voice was deep and commanding, the voice of a king, and Rand dipped his head. Strong as he was, this was someone far stronger. The Creator, then?

"No," the man laughed. "Merely a king, and that is enough. I am Manwe, and my wife Varda. What you see is no vision, but Valinor, home of the Valar." Rand could see these patterns, too, bold strokes that seemed to last without end. He knew what they had to be, though his own world had no room for them. "Spirits?" he said dumbly.

"You might say that. I am the regent of the Creator, the one who administers Arda."

Now Rand was beginning to catch on. "Your world, your land. Valinor is but a part. I, too, watch over my land, though my time, I believe, will come sooner than yours."

Manwe nodded. An eagle, or so Rand imagined it to be, came and landed on Manwe's palm. "Show me Middle-Earth," the male spirit demanded. Rand watched, dumbfounded, as a wide landscape of mountains, plains, and forests unfolded before him. There were few kingdoms, and the very land looked young.

"Did the Creator just create this world?" Rand asked. "It seems young and fresh."

"In comparison to yours, yes," Manwe said. "Watch." Rand was silent at the command. The history of this land unfolded quickly. He shuddered at the dark spirits who tried to conquer it, and marveled at the elves and dwarves and men who had resisted. Great victories were won, but also great defeats. Kingdoms rose and fell. It reminded Rand of his own world, with differences.

The history stopped, and the land zoomed closer. Next to a long range of mountains, there was a wood. Quickly the woods zoomed in. Golden branches slapped past his eyes, and a clearing appeared. He turned to Manwe. "Are my friends really there?" he asked. He had seen them, or so he thought.

"Yes. The Creator does not much take a hand, as he does not in yours, but he has moved a little, bringing your friends to help in this war." This was from Varda, whose voice was as high as Manwe's was deep. She was the voice of the stars, and Rand, with a shock, realized those pinpricks of light were shaped in part by her hand.

"Did you see Mordor?" Manwe asked.

Rand nodded, spellbound, and as though at his command, the dark land came back into view. The pattern was twisted here, dark and warped, and he drew back. He could see that Sauron's victory was nearly complete. He could also see why his friends had been brought to help.

"Tell your world that your friends fight for a good cause," Manwe said. "You will see them again, and I think your world needs that reassurance." Rand wanted to ask how long it would be, but Manwe had already turned his back. He was also growing smaller. Rand realized the vision was over, and he could feel his mattress under him.

As soon as he was fully awake, he collected some provisions and saddled his horse. It was the middle of the night, but he had no doubt that he could protect himself if someone tried to attack. He quickly calculated. He was a full day's ride from the Seven Towers of Malkier, where Lan and Nynaeve lived in bliss. They would be the first person he would tell. Then, if Nynaeve could make a gateway, he would address the White Tower.


	9. Chapter 9-Farewell to the Elves

**A/N- I didn't quite use the "Why not the Eagles?" argument in the last chapter, but I was close. The folks from Randland are smart. They will want to exhaust every option before turning to the most desperate.**

 **Some might wonder if Asha'man will be included in this story. I'll give the answer right now- no. I am sure Logain and Gandalf would get along well, but I want the Quest, and all the battles, to be just as dangerous. Including Teslyn and Moiraine will change events slightly. I don't want to change them too much.**

Galadriel sat with Moiraine, Celeborn beside them. For the last month, Moiraine had visited with her, and everyday brought new wonders. Moiraine, a scholar of the highest order, had almost dazzled the queen with her knowledge, but Galadriel had spoken back, the creation of the world and Morgoth in her thoughts.

Then she had revealed her secret, showing the Blue Lady her ring and what it allowed her to do. Moiraine had nodded, showing her angreal and ter'angreal and demonstrating some uses of the Power. Galadriel found her respect rising. Certainly, Moiraine had not been perfect, but neither had she.

Now they were talking about where she might go. Galadriel knew that Moiraine's wisdom was true, and that such power would put Frodo at risk. Moiraine had wondered about the other realms, and Galadriel had explained much to her, especially of Rohan, realm of the horse-lords.

"So is Theoden strong?" Moiraine asked.

"I do not know," Galadriel answered. "He recently received a new councilor, Grima Wormtongue. Some say he is an aid to the king, and some say no. Saruman lives on the borders of the realm, and he has always wanted Rohan for himself."

"I don't like the name," Moiraine said. "And the fact that he is new troubles me. I think a visit to Rohan is in order." At that moment, Thom appeared. The Gray Fox had lived up to his name, his sharp, inquisitive mind putting together history that even Galadriel wanted hidden. Moiraine had explained the Warder bond. It was well, Galadriel thought, though she marveled. Never before had she met men with such a connection. If this was the future of men, she had great hopes.

"What of your distant cousin, Maglor? It is said he roams the coasts. What of him?" His slow voice held the hint of a question.

"No one has seen him in nearly an Age. Even if he was seen, we would not talk to him, or he to us. I believe his mind was overthrown." Galadriel felt a pain at that. Apart from Elrond, he was the last link to the First Age. None of the other Noldor were left. She sighed. "I can give you horses, and you can ride to Edoras. But I warn you to be careful. If Saruman has enmeshed the king, you may be in danger."

Moiraine nodded slowly, and Thom showed he understood. Celeborn, silent till now, spoke. "I think that the time has come for the Company to depart. Tomorrow, we will send them on their way. Wait until then to leave, Lady Moiraine." His voice showed he respected her.

Moiraine nodded. "I will wait. I do want to try something, your majesty." Briefly she spoke of balefire. "I do not know if the Ring will be touched, but what if it could be undone here?"

Galadriel wondered. She knew little of the Power that was wielded with such strength, but she had little hope of it. Even so, she nodded. "It can be tried. We will be ready if any...effects occur. And it is better here, where the mind of our Enemy cannot reach."

Moiraine nodded and took her leave, Thom following behind. Galadriel looked at Celeborn. "Let us prepare the gifts for the Fellowship. I do not think Moiraine will be able to undo the Ring."

181818

Mat was practicing swordplay with Frodo, working in a circle, Perrin calling out encouragement, when Moiraine arrived. Mat wanted to leave, and be on with their task, but he understood the need for rest, and like any good soldier, took the chance here.

He put up his sword when the Aes Sedai approached. Frodo had certainly improved, and though his stature was small, his keen eyes and quick wrists would serve him well.

"There is something I wish to try," she said. "I have been thinking, and perhaps the Ring can be destroyed here. Teslyn, Tuon, help me, please." The other two women gathered around, and Moiraine dipped her head to Frodo. "If you wish, please put the Ring on that rock."

Now Mat knew what she wanted to try. He hated balefire, but for the evil of the Ring, he thought it might be necessary. It could at least be tried, and put a hand on Frodo's shoulder to encourage him. Frodo looked reluctant, but finally nodded, doing what she bid.

"It is time to link," Moiraine said. "I will direct the flows." Tuon and Teslyn stood on either side of her, clasping her hands, and Mat felt his medallion grow cold as they gathered the Power. "Shield your eyes," Moiraine cried, and Mat covered his face, seeing the others do so. There was a flash even through his fingers, and a mutter of disappointment.

Mat opened his eyes, and cursed. The rock was gone, only sparkles of light remaining. The Ring took that light, sending it back in beautiful sparkles, and the grass smoked. Moiraine looked like she wanted to vomit, and so did the others. He ran to Tuon, helping her sit. Aragorn helped Teslyn, and Thom was there for Moiraine.

Legolas came with water, and Moiraine drank before she spoke. "I am sorry, Frodo," she said. "This is the most powerful weapon we have, and I used all of the Power I could draw."

Frodo nodded and picked up the Ring. It was untouched, and by the way he handled it, Mat knew it was not even hot. Now, at last, he saw the full strength of Sauron and his Master Ring.

"I have never felt such evil," Moiraine said. "I have touched the Forsaken, and Padan Fain was partly healed by my hand. But this is far greater and far stronger. It seeks the domination of all else, the corruption of all life on this earth. I..." she swallowed. "Now I see the strength of the task we face." She stood sharply, and Mat blinked. "We must all be prepared."

Mat sighed. He had hoped the attempt would work. But it had not, and so the Quest would continue. Well, he would do his part. He patted Frodo on the shoulder, encouraging him. He was also encouraged by Moiraine's behavior. Her time with the Finns had changed her, making her humble and more importantly, truthful. All she had done, she had done with good intent.

181818

Faile had not been there at the attempt, but had been drawn by the flash of light and had heard Moiraine's words. Now she sat by Frodo, keeping him company while he thought. She knew his two choices, and both seemed desperate. She had her own choices to consider, and was struck by Moiraine's words. "Frodo must not be a target."

So who should go with him? The Aes Sedai must not go. Her and Perrin? Yes, perhaps so, but then she frowned. Perrin had touched the evil wargs. If his ability was not known to Sauron, it would be to Saruman, and he might draw things even more wicked. No, then. Mat? Mat was bold, and his skill in battle and cheerful heart would be a great boon to the hobbits. But she knew he would protect Tuon first. Though they were not bonded, they may as well have been. With the prejudice against dark skin, he would stay close to her. Tam might go. She might, as well. So would the dwarf and elf, and of course, the hobbits.

It had not been the first time she and Perrin had been separated, but it would be the most desperate. It was a desperate plan, she knew. It had always been. And she knew she did not have the strength, courage, or abilities of the others. But she would go into Mordor if she must.

She was interrupted by her thoughts by the sound of soft steps. The elven queen was beckoning to Frodo, and he rose, the faithful Sam trailing behind. She waited until they were behind a tree, and rose herself.

Their pavilion was at the upper level of the city, and she descended, following the faint gleam of Galadriel. Soon they reached another clearing, empty but for a short pillar, flaring out into a basin. Galadriel took a pitcher, dipping it in the stream that flowed through the city, and filled the basin. Then she turned to the hobbits.

"This is the Mirror of Galadriel. What is, what was, and what might be are shown within this mirror. Do you choose to look?" The hobbits hesitated. Galadriel beckoned to Sam. "You wanted to see elven magic. Do you still wish to?"

Sam nodded and approached, bending over the pillar. Immediately his smile changed to a frown, then open anger. He jumped up with a scowl before bending over the pillar again. Now he looked horrified, as though he had seen death. When he rose, his face was streaked with tears. "I must go back!" he said.

Galadriel's voice was stern and soothing. "If you try to change this future, you may fulfill it. You promised to follow Frodo. Do you still?"

Faile could see the struggle on his face. "Yes. I will go home the long way with Mister Frodo, or not at all. But when I return, someone is going to catch it hot!" He wiped his eyes, and Faile saw the fire there. She would not want to meet him then, no matter her skill in battle.

The elven queen motioned to Frodo. "And you?" Frodo approached, more reluctantly than Sam, and leaned over the Mirror. At once, his face turned gray with fear and horror. Faile's heart went out to him. What was he seeing? His face turned angry, and the water seemed to boil. The ring fell out from his shirt, leaning over the water, almost straining. So he was seeing the Enemy? Now steam rose from the water, and Faile nearly ran forward to help him. But the queen was there first, gently pulling Frodo back.

"I saw what you saw. The Enemy desires the Ring. He must not have it."

"I will give it to you. It is too big a matter for me!" Frodo yanked the chain from around his neck and held it out. His eyes were desperate, and Faile felt her heart twist. Would Galadriel fall?

Her voice was soft. "Long have I desired this. You test my heart, Frodo, Ringbearer. So what if I did?" She held up her arms, and a great light shone from her. "In place of the Dark Lord you will have a queen! Stronger than the foundations of the earth, mightier than the stars, more beautiful than the dawn. All will love me and despair!" Her eyes turned cold and icy, and the light changed now to something immeasurably beautiful, immeasurably horrifying.

Faile shrank back. Was this the battle the Forsaken had gone through when choosing the Dark One? All of them changing from light to dark? But Galadriel's arms fell and the light went out. Now she was a women, not even majestic, but simple, shrunken. "I pass the test. I will go into the West, and remain Galadriel." Gently, she folded Frodo's hand over the Ring. "We will help you, as much as it is our burden to bear."

Frodo blinked back tears, but smiled through them, almost as though a light through a glass. Faile breathed out a sigh of relief. Both had passed their tests. As they left, and she followed, she knew she had to talk to Aragorn. He had to know what she had decided.

181818

Aragorn was pacing, thinking. He wanted to march with Frodo, carrying the Ring to its doom. But his destiny called- the King of men, ruling over the nations of Gondor and long-ruined Arnor. He knew he could not do both. Moiraine's counsel had not helped, though he knew she was correct, and knew the three female wizards would be strong in the fight for the White City.

"Lord Aragorn," a voice came. He turned to look at Faile. Her face was streaked with tears, but her voice was steady. He had never seen the Queen cry, and wondered what it was that had happened to her. He was also uncomfortable. Her husband, the King, lay not far from where they stood, but he knew full well Perrin needed his sleep. He knew what plagued him- the curse of being half-wolf.

"You wished to speak?" Aragorn said. His voice was gentle.

"Yes," the Queen said. Her eyes still held tears, but behind those tears was an iron will. She spoke briefly, and now Aragorn knew why she was crying.

"There may be no need," he said. "Or did you look in the Lady's Mirror?" He knew the Ring wanted to divide. Faile was strong, but the love she had for her husband was stronger yet. The Ring would work against that, and try and turn her pride against her.

She seemed to guess his thoughts and smiled sadly. "No. The Ring has tempted me, certainly, but I follow the wisdom of Moiraine. I am committed to do what must be done. I love the elf and the dwarf, and they are warriors beyond what I could hope, but I have been through the dark lands of my world." Briefly she told of her terrifying journey through the Blight. "They will need someone who has dealt with such evil."

Aragorn could not argue with her wisdom. He still hoped that the King and Queen would not be separated, but he realized now that it might be unavoidable. Faile nodded. "I hope not, either. I love my husband, and only as a last resort would I leave him. I will have a letter ready tomorrow. If I am separated, will you make sure that he receives it?"

Aragorn nodded sadly. "Will he understand?"

"In time." Was there shame in the Queen's voice? Surely there could not be, if she was sure of her course. "This is not the first time I have had to leave him. Also, I hope that you will be encouraged. I know you are torn between two courses."

Aragorn was encouraged, and said so. Now he knew, if he was to follow Boromir, that Frodo would be in good hands. He bowed, and left, to seek his own bed. But over his shoulder, he could see Faile thinking, chin resting on her hands, her long skirts a blanket around her.

181818

Tam was refreshed within the first night, and was eager to press on. But he knew both Teslyn and Moiraine needed to talk to the elven queen, and so for many days he rested, talking with the elves and practicing. Haldir when he could be spared from duty, would sometimes practice with him, or with Faile. It was clear Haldir was attracted to the young queen, but also that he was wary of Perrin, who watched over her like an eagle.

But now, at last, it was time to leave. The elves had taken their packs away, supposedly to fill them with supplies for the next stage of their journey, and they were walking east, toward the Great River Anduin. He could hear the Silverlode on their left, chattering in the distance.

The trees still surrounded them, but now he could see an end ahead, and soon, they broke out into sunshine. A long lawn tapered to the confluence of the two rivers, and several boats were drawn up at a small dock. Haldir, walking beside him, spoke softly.

"My lord has given your company the gift of boats. With them, you can sail down the river, marshalling your strength for whatever trials may be ahead. In them we have placed your packs."

Tam was grateful. A long march along the riverside he could endure, but boats would make things easier. He moved toward them, curious as to their construction, and saw they were made of a light, white wood. Taking an experimental feel, he thought even a hobbit could carry one if necessary. "Be careful," the elves at the bank warned. "They will not sink, no matter how they are handled, but they can be tricky. It is wise to make a trial, here where we can help if needed."

Tam saw the sense of what they said. So did Aragorn. Taking command, he soon had the Company loaded. In the front were Aragorn, Frodo, and Sam. Boromir, Tam and Merry followed next, with Pippin, Mat and the Empress behind. Gimli, Legolas and the baggage came next, and watching the rear with his wolf's eyes were Perrin, along with Faile and Teslyn. When all were loaded, Aragorn led them on a trial up the Silverlode. Tam was the first to take the paddle, and found it easy, much like the fisher-boats of Illian. He found himself in a steady rhythm, pushing with long strokes.

As he rounded a corner, he found himself faced with a magnificent swan. Music came, and he saw it was a boat, made with the cunning of the elves. Galadriel rose and motioned to the bank. Aragorn nodded and turned out of the current, and the other boats followed.

"We have spoken with you, but now we wish to eat a farewell feast." Tam was agreeable. Moiraine and Thom were in the boat too, and even Loial crouched, as much as an Ogier could. Elvish maids had prepared a meal, laid out on the grass, and he fell to, preparing himself for the lean days that might come.

When all had eaten their fill, Galadriel motioned, and two elves ran forward, their arms full. "We have gifts for the company," the White Lady said. For Boromir, there was a belt of gold, and for Merry and Pippin, belts of silver. Legolas got a long bow, stronger than the bow of his own country, and Sam, a box of blessed earth. Frodo received the trapped light of the evening star, and Aragorn, a scabbard for his sword, written about with runes. At Gimli's impassioned pleading, he received three strands of Galadriel's golden hair. The strangers were not forgotten. Faile received a curved horn, cunningly wrought with scenes of battle, while Perrin received several mallorn seeds. Mat got some new daggers, which he looked at with approval, and Teslyn, a package of herbs, "in case your healing does not work." Tuon received a necklace of white gems, fit for any royalty. "If you are ever tempted, think of me. These jewels are hallowed, and may keep you from evil." Tuon bowed low, her eyes shining with thanks.

Tam was not forgotten. He received a short sword and scabbard, both wound with runes. "It was made by my cousin Turgon in the deeps of time, and is wound with spells for the destruction of Shadowspawn. It may even hold off the Ringwraiths." Tam dipped his head, strapping it on the other side of his belt from his sword. And to all, an elven cloak was given, strapped with a green, leaf-like brooch.

"Now all is ready," Celeborn said. "Hold to the River, and to your courage." He turned away, and so did Galadriel. Heavy-hearted, Tam got in his boat. In his time, there were nations of men, where he could find lodging and refuge. Here, though, the lands were empty and evil, and the elves a memory of a time before darkness.

Slowly, they drifted away, down the Celebrant, the bright grass of Lorien reflected in his sorrow. Then they met the Anduin and turned south into its current. He watched as the grass disappeared, and gray trees, still waiting for spring, marched down either side.


	10. Chapter 10- The Breaking

Chapter 8- The Breaking

For several days they drifted down the river. If Mat wasn't worried, he would have enjoyed this part of the journey more than any other. They were finally off their feet, carried by the current. Tuon seemed more relaxed, and often looked at the jewels she had been given. Even Boromir acted as though he had never seen the Ring. Mat had talked to him just before leaving the Golden Wood, and though it had not been a pleasant conversation, it seemed it had made its mark.

Still, he was worried. He did not have the perception an Aes Sedai or even Perrin had, but he knew the Enemy had not rested while he had. He feared a trap.

The elf seemed to share his mood. He was constantly scanning the banks, hardly resting even at night. Mat often joined him, pacing away the anxieties in watching the camp. Alone of the Company, those two seemed to be worried. The rest encouraged them to rest, but Mat could not.

So they continued under a darkening sky. When it rained, they put covers on their boats and drifted on. The land had risen about them into brown hills, bare even of grass, the wreckage of a long-ago war with Sauron. It did not help his mood, nor was he comforted when the land rose even more into rocky heights, grim and silent. Now Aragorn led them more carefully. Apparently, there were rapids ahead, but the Ranger was not quite quick enough. The next night, they were almost wrecked, and only quick paddling brought them to the western shore in one piece.

Teslyn looked up the river, her eyes dark, but Mat had already felt it, a cold beyond cold. From Frodo's description, he knew what must be nearby. Suddenly voices rose, harsh and cruel. It was not the voices of Moria, but close enough. He put an arrow on the string, even as something black rose up, devouring the stars. Mat and Legolas loosed at the same time, and the black shape swerved away. There was a mighty splash upriver, and the orc-voices cut off. When they started again, they were far away, dim in the night.

Legolas clapped Mat on the shoulder. "That was good shooting, my friend." Mat heard the praise. Good as Two Rivers bowmen were, none could match the elves.

"But what did it hit?" Gimli said, fingering his axe.

"Whatever it was, it discomfited our enemies," Aragorn said. "I did not know orcs were so close. I will set a better guard tonight."

Mat offered to take the first watch, and Aragorn joined him. The rest rolled up in their elven cloaks. Once again, Mat was amazed. If he did not know better, he would say his friends were lumps of rock. Such was the power of Galadriel's work.

"I have been too careless," Aragorn said. "Orcs should not be on the west bank."

"I feared a trap ever since I left Lorien," Mat said. "My senses feel danger."

"So did I, but I said nothing. There will be time for worry later, but perhaps I trusted too much in the River to keep us safe." Aragorn's brows ceased. "At least the danger within the fellowship is no longer. That is what I most feared. Thank you."

Mat laughed wryly. "You are welcome. But you did not want to simply thank me."

"No." The older man was in shadow, but his eyes seemed haunted as well. "Was it hard, being an outsider in a culture not your own?"

"The Seanchan are different, it is true," Mat said. "And blood and ashes! I do not like being ennobled. But you will do as well as I, or better. You have the ancestry and the claim, and the wisdom learned from Elrond. I had none of that." He remembered an old saying Rand had told him. "On the heights, the paths are paved with daggers. If you doubt yourself, the points will only be sharper. There are other men who would claim your birthright if they could, and they can read doubt better than I." He nodded to Boromir, snoring gently. "That one wants glory. With or without the Ring, he will seek it."

Aragorn only nodded, as though unsurprised. "Thank you," he said. A tension seemed to go out of him. "You have eased my mind and heart."

Thom flicked his horse's reins, spurring on the animal. He was worried. As soon as the Company had disappeared, the golden queen had called to him and Moiraine. "I have gifts for you as well, above the horses I will give." Thom was glad to receive a book of elvish tales, with a guide for translation. He knew he would treasure it, and would set some of the stories to song. Moiraine, however, received a small ring. "This is no Ring of Power, but it has some of my light within it. It may help you if you find ill in your travels."

Moiraine rode beside him, and now drew up. "What is it, Thom?" she said. "I feel your worry."

"It is too quiet," Thom said. "If this is a realm of horses, where are they? Even Tear had herds outside the city."

"I have wondered that too. It is not the quiet of peace." Moiraine's voice was tinged with concern, and through the bond, he could feel her unease. "This land is rich and worth protecting. I think we now know that not all is well, if no soldiers are-" she trailed off, and Thom felt it too. A foulness, oily and vile. As one, they turned for an outcropping of rocks. They reached their safety just as the sound of marching feet reached them. Thom raised his head, motioning for Moiraine to stay down.

What he saw made his heart clench. He had seen Trollocs, and fought with Myrdraal, but this was far different. These creatures made Trollocs look pretty. Their misshapen faces, rotting teeth, and bow-legs gave little thought of planning on the part of Morgoth. But if they were ugly, they were still efficient, led by some hulking brutes easily as tall as all but the tallest men. And they ran fast, almost as fast as a horse. He did not like the direction they were going, either.

He told Moiraine all of this, and she sighed. "We could never hope to take so many," she muttered. "Two hundred. And you say they head for the River?"

Thom nodded. "They have the White Hand. The fallen wizard, I think, sends them. For one purpose." He didn't have to say it, but Moiraine nodded, eyes angry. Angry that she could not do more.

"Even if they chase the Ring, we can do nothing. They will have to defend themselves. At least we know now that Theoden does not rule Rohan as he ought. This is deep within the country, and not on the borders. I still wish I could have fought Saruman myself."

"If he is as strong as what we have been told, it would be useless. He would tie us in knots without a second thought." Thom's voice was gentle. "But if there is a warding or a shield on the king, that we can undo." He felt confident. Moiraine was a fine woman, gentle and kind, but with a heart of cuendillar. She would find a way to free the king.

"I am told the Creator does not interfere in the affairs of this world," she said, changing topics as she so often did. "But of those that are here from our time, they are the most powerful of all of us. Except perhaps Nynaeve or Elayne. Our coming will change the course of the future. And with us gone, our world will also be changed."

"Who can say?" Thom teased. "If this world is in the Third Age, perhaps we will hear stories of our own doings here. We have come back a full turning of the Wheel, when man is young." He was still amazed, but he could see the seeds of greatness in many of the men he had met. He was sad, though, that the immortal elves would fade away, and so would the stubborn dwarves.

Moiraine, as always, caught his thoughts. "Much will be lost, it is true. But to stop the Dark One here would be worth the price. Who knows? We ourselves could be descendents of these first kings." It was probably true, Thom thought. But what changes would happen between the Ages? It was a thought that did not comfort him.

Tuon could feel her husband's mood, and was watchful herself. She knew evil things stalked the company, but they were far away. More, she watched herself, careful of her thoughts. The pull of the Ring, dim in Lorien, was now stronger, darker. She often looked at the jewels Moiraine had given her, and they helped.

Then they reached the canyon. The river, swollen, roared through the gap, and the boats were carried along like leaves in a flood. Tuon flinched as they approached the gap, and Mat laid his paddle on his knees, frowning, but Aragorn stood up, his voice ringing over the roar. His hood was cast back, and his eyes were the eyes of a king.

"Long have I desired to see the Argonath, statues of the kings of old. Under Isildur and Anarion, my sires, Aragorn Isildur's son has naught to fear."

Now the Empress looked up, and gasped. If she had been boggled by the dwarf mines, she was even more boggled by this. Two statues, huge, loomed over the river. Hundreds of paces tall, two men looked back to the North. Crowns were on their heads, and both of their right hands were held up in a gesture of warning. One held an axe, and the other an upraised sword. Under their frowning eyes the boats passed.

Pippin raised his eyes as they passed. "I heard these date from the end of the Second Age, when the Enemy was dealt his first defeat. They marked the end of the territory of Gondor, when it was at its height."

Tuon looked back. The cliffs now hid the huge border markers, but she was amazed. If she was reading the maps of Middle-Earth correctly, only Hawkwing and the Seanchan held more. And they had thrived, with no shadow to loom over them. The courage of men in their youth was great, she knew. How had it failed, from Age to Age?

There was no chance of stopping now. They must be carried to their destination. Mat leaned back, his eyes showing his own shock. She had seen a little, but he had seen much more. Never had there been such a monument, save when the Hawkwing had died.

But now she turned her eyes ahead. The canyon was ending, and they came into broad afternoon sunlight. A long lake stretched before them. At its end, three hills rose, the center taller than the others, and the roar of a waterfall was somewhere ahead. Aragorn now took up his paddle, headed for the left of the three islands.

Tuon could almost feel the Pattern shifting around them. Here was where, for good or ill, decisions would be made. Her certainty was reflected in Aragorn's eyes as he pushed the boat to the shore. "Amon Hen, the Hill of Seeing. Let us hope that we see clearly here."

Tuon helped Mat ground the boat, and carried her pack up to a small lawn. Aragorn was already making a fire, and the wood crackled against the waterfall's roar. Aragorn gathered the Company around him. "Here is where we must decide what direction we will go. Some have already made their choices, I know. But the rest must decide here. Time is pressing, and the Enemy holds the western bank."

Tuon looked at the writhing hills of the Emyn Muil. If there were orcs in there, she did not want to meet them. But her commitment was unchanged. Mat also spoke, smooth and sure. Tuon knew what Moiraine had said. But she thought if she did not use the Power, that she would be well.

"We go to Mordor," Mat said for the both of them. "Our commitment is unchanged."

Faile also looked up at the hills. Going through them would not be easy, but she thought that if they could stay hidden, they could travel partway to Mordor unseen by enemy eyes. But the light was failing, and no one wanted a march in the dark. Perrin came to sit beside her, and her heart clenched. "What is it, my love?" he said. "You smell troubled."

Faile cast about for something she might say. "I am troubled at traveling through Mordor," she said. "It sounds as bad as the Blight, or worse, and that journey nearly killed me." She was troubled by that, too. She would need all her courage.

Perrin put a strong arm around her. "I know," he said. "But you will have others. I will go with you, and it sounds as though Mat and the Empress will as well. You will have no need for fear."

"I wonder how Moiraine is," Faile murmured. "I hope she can break the spell over the king, if there is one."

"When we return, we will see the king whole," Perrin said. "Moiraine does not have the skill of Nynaeve, it is true, but she is aware of Compulsion and all manner of evils."

Faile, comforted, sought her blankets. Perrin promised to come later, and the last thought before she slept was that he would do just as well, if they were separated.

Morning dawned bright, and Faile, the first up, stirred the coals and put on a kettle for tea. She looked at the hobbits as they rose, and asked them to sit beside her. They did, and talked quietly as the others rose and rolled up their blanketrolls. Aragorn, after drinking some tea, called the company together.

"Now is the time," he said. "Frodo, the decision lies with you. We cannot force you. All we can do is help you as best we might."

Faile put a hand on the hobbit's arm. He looked up at her, doubt in his eyes, then turned to face the company. "Give me one hour alone," he said. "I will give my decision then." The faithful Sam made as though to rise, but Frodo shook his head. Muttering, the stout hobbit sat back down. Faile, to distract from the silence, talked a little more with Aragorn, bringing the rest of the Company in. They spoke of light matters, of dragons and dwarves and the golden treasures that were everywhere in Middle-Earth.

Suddenly she looked up, feeling a prickling in her shoulder blades. Boromir was gone, only his shield remaining. He had been quiet in their discussion, but maybe he was going to encourage Frodo. Still, the sound of birds had suddenly been cut off.

Suddenly Teslyn tensed. "Shadowspawn," she whispered. That word acted on the Company like a prod. Within moments, all weapons were readied, and the hobbits were encircled. Faile could not hear them yet, but trusted the Aes Sedai's senses. Now she could hear a crashing, far away and coming closer.

She wanted to go to Frodo, but Boromir would have to take care of him. Raising the horn she had been given, she blew a long blast, hoping the orcs would be disoriented. The crashing stopped, then continued slowly. Flashes of armor could be seen through the trees, black and gray, and then the enemy was on them.

Faile fought as she had practiced, her daggers an extension of her arm. The good steel, forged in Tear, cut through the armor of the orcs as though through paper. Perrin was beside her, axe raised, his eyes glowing yellow with the fight. No wolf this time, though he snarled as he beheaded orc after orc. Fireballs flew, from Tuon and Teslyn both. Aragorn and Tam fought like the Aiel, and Mat and Legolas' bows sang. Gimli, short as he was, was a terror with his axe, his eyes glowing with fury.

Over the clash of weapons came Boromir's horn, somewhere up the hill, a desperate blast. Faile wanted to go to him, and suddenly looked around. Where was Sam? Suddenly she spotted him, running toward the shore and the boats.

"Protect the hobbits, Perrin!" she yelled. Perrin looked over his shoulder, saw Sam and nodded. Faile, released, ran after the hobbit, catching him at the water's edge. From the woods and the lawn, she could still hear battle, but here, it was quiet. Faile grabbed Sam's arm.

"You'll be killed!" she said. "You can't just run off."

"Begging your pardon, your majesty, but I know my master's mind," Sam said, hushed. "He will do his duty, but he will not want to bring anyone into danger with him. He will try to sneak off, even in battle." Indeed, the grass was being depressed under invisible feet. There was a mutter, and Frodo appeared.

"Of all nuisances you are the worst," Frodo said. "I was hoping to be safely away by now."

"Not without me," Sam said. "Gandalf said someone you can trust." He looked up at Faile, a question in his eyes.

Faile sighed inwardly, though none of it showed on her face. So it was happening, when she and her husband would be separated. He would have to understand, but someone had to go with the hobbits, and they had to get away quickly, before the orcs became aware of them. There was no time. She nodded slowly, kneeling before the hobbits so she could look in their eyes.

"I will go with you," she said. "The others have their calling, and we have ours. Come."

Quickly piling their packs in one of the boats, she loaded the hobbits and pushed off. Circling around the hill, they reached the eastern shore of the river. Burying the boat, they took up their packs, hoping to find a way up over the hills and into the Land of Shadow.

Boromir walked up the hill. He knew his place, and that was protecting his beloved city. But before he took leave of the Fellowship, he wanted to talk to the Ringbearer, to apologize and encourage. The apology was necessary, and he felt shame fill him.

Certainly, he had not tried to take the Ring, but he had been possessed with the thought. Day after day, it had grown stronger, the craving to own what would bring victory. Then Mat had spoken to him. He had not heard the story of the ruby dagger, but Mat had spoken of it in painful detail, and he had been shaken, then shaken free from his obsession.

Looking back on it, he could see the truth of all that had been spoken of the Ring's slow evil. If such obsession was changing his very being, what would happen if the Ring was brought back to Minas Tirith? He knew- it would drive the whole city mad. No, it had to be destroyed. He would let it go, and be a man of Gondor, true and valiant.

He found Frodo sitting on a rock, close to the summit of the hill, head in his hands. He looked disconsolate, and when he looked up, he could see Frodo's pained expression. He was deciding, and Boromir would encourage him in the quest.

"Can I sit?" the man of Gondor said, and Frodo nodded. Taking a seat on a fallen log, Boromir thought about how to begin. "Frodo, I-" he finally started, when his keen ears heard the sound of crashing, and harsh voices. He stood, sword flashing into his hand. So he would not be able to apologize, but he could still help the Ringbearer.

"Go!" he said. "Take the Ring and go!" Frodo nodded and disappeared, only the grass showing the tread of his invisible feet. Boromir set himself, wishing he had not left his shield. He grabbed a log in the other hand to use as a club, feeling a little silly, but determined to give Frodo every opportunity.

So these were the Uruk-Hai. They were nasty brutes, but Boromir was not afraid. Feeling peace fill him, he ran forward to meet them. His sword flashed, and battle was engaged. He could hear more fighting, down by the lawn, and knew he was on his own, but he blew his horn anyway. The Uruk-hai drew back for only a moment, but a moment was all the Gondorian needed, and he killed two of them before they could raise their shields.

But he paid quickly for leaving his own. He did not see the arrow flash from the bow of an orcish warrior, but he felt it. Even in the heat of battle, it twisted him around. Another flew, this time hitting him in the stomach. Still he fought on, intending to sell himself dearly. Every second more he fought was more time for Frodo to run.

Now he was hit mortally. The archer, a huge brute, came to stand over him. It's smile, filled with death and pain, stabbed Boromir. So it was over. The orc raised his sword- and its head flew off its shoulders. Boromir thought he was dreaming, but all of the Company was there. Teslyn and Aragorn pushed the others aside. Teslyn shook her head. "I am sorry. My healing would kill him." She placed a hand on his head, and warmth flowed through him, and enough strength to speak. "All I can do is make him comfortable."

Boromir expected that. He was content. He grabbed Aragorn's tunic, pulling him low. He had to know. "I have failed. Never again will I see my home."

"No," Aragorn whispered. "No! You have won a great victory. I will make sure your people do not fail."

Boromir knew that Aragorn would keep his word. He would make a good king. Black was starting to creep into his vision, but he whispered. "I would have followed you. My brother. My captain. My king." Aragorn's eyes widened, but that was the last thing Boromir saw. He let blackness claim him, but then there was light, and a voice of thunder, loud enough to melt his bones. "Well done!"

Teslyn had overheard the conversation, and was stunned. So Boromir had overcome. She was not stupid. She had sensed his desire, but she knew he was a noble man. He had met a noble end. Few warriors, or even Warders, could kill so many of the enemy before being overcome.

But some were missing from their number. All the hobbits were gone. So were Perrin and Faile.

"Perrin and the two young hobbits have been taken," Tuon said slowly, looking at her. "I could not come in time. Faile saw Sam running for the boats and went to protect him. Where Frodo is, I do not know."

"I think I do," Aragorn said slowly. "Frodo has left. He would ask no one else to come with him, especially after the wisdom from Moiraine. Sam would guess his master's mind and go. So would Faile."

Teslyn nodded. "Do we follow them? That was our Quest, after all. Boromir died for that cause, and I would have us finish what he began."

Aragorn shook his head. "I do not think the fate of Frodo is in our hands any longer. The Company was nearly split because of the Ring. Faile will make a good companion for them, as they march to Mount Doom." He paused. Teslyn could guess there was more he was not telling, and resolved to ask later. "But we must not leave our other friends to torment."

"What of the fallen?" Legolas asked. "We must not leave him here like carrion."

"We will not," Gimli said. "But he would not wish us to linger." He looked around, eyeing the rocks. "We might raise a cairn over him."

"It would take too long. No, my friends. Let us arrange him in a boat, and give him to the River. It is a fitting burial for such a noble man." Teslyn thought so as well, and helped to arrange the dead lord in one of the boats, his weapons at his side and the helmets of his enemies at his feet. Serene in death, Boromir still glowed with light.

Tam and Aragorn pushed him out into the river, and the current took the little boat. As they watched it drift, Aragorn and Legolas sang a song over him, telling of his deeds, calling on the winds as a witness. By the time the last verse was done, the boat had disappeared. The falls roared on unchanging, and Teslyn sighed. In the White Tower, there would be more ceremony, but she liked the brevity and honor of the short funeral.

Now Aragorn spoke once more. His eyes were dry, and his voice cold. "Now it is time to begin our journey. I will not abandon our friends to torment and death. Leave all that can be left behind. Let's hunt some orc."

Teslyn rummaged in her pack. She could take little, as she was going on a chase, not a march. A waterbottle to sling over her shoulder. Some packets of lembas bread, and her gift of herbs in case of injury. Her weapons were inside of her, though her short knife would do for anyone the Power could not reach in time. Content, she looked around. All the others were ready, with various bundles and weapons around them. Without a word, Aragorn led the way west.


	11. Chapter 11- The Long Chase

Chapter 10- The Long Chase

Gimli puffed as he trotted along. For two days they had run, marching and walking, over the hills and into the plain. He could feel the rock under his feet. It was strong rock, fit for defense and beauty. Then they had come out into the plain.

No horses had he seen, though it was supposed to be the realm of the Horse-Lords. Some thought the dwarves were stupid and greedy, caring only for gold and gems, but he knew they were a noble race, Mahal the Smith having given them a kind, stubborn heart. He had liked the hobbits from the start, and was grieved they had been captured.

Aragorn was just ahead, and he called back, "Something sets its will against ours, and gives speed to our enemies."

"Saruman, I guess," Teslyn said. "I feel his power reaching out over the land." She sounded disgusted and angry. Gimli had taken to calling the woman the Red Lady. She was powerful, washing away their tiredness every night, filling them with energy for the next day. Gimli would never admit it, especially in front of the Elf, but he was grateful. The long march was wearing on him.

Suddenly Aragorn held up a hand. Veering to the side of the trail, he picked up something green and held it up. Gimli gasped. "An elven brooch," he said.

Mat smiled. The warrior was a rascal, too, but he had gone on the march along with everyone else, never complaining. "So we know at least one is still alive."

"Perrin, I think. He has large footprints for a man." Aragorn paused and gave the brooch to Gimli. Carefully, he put it in his pack. With a lighter heart, he continued on. He liked the blacksmith that had become a king, and knew he would protect the hobbits well.

That night, he sat down with Mat and Tuon. Their tiredness had been washed away, all except for those who would stand guard. Gimli knew he would soon sleep, but he wanted a few words with the Empress and her prince. He still did not understand the chaining of magicians, and wanted to find out why anyone would do such a thing.

He was respectful, but blunt. Tuon nodded at his question. "It is something we speak little of," she said. "But you have heard of Artur Hawkwing, our greatest king."

"Aye," the dwarf said.

"He sent his son, with an army, to see if there were any lands across the ocean. There were, and there they found the Armies of the Night. Our Power was used in battle, one woman killing another. To bring order, the a'dam was created, and all woman who could wield the Power were leashed. On that foundation, an Empire was built. That is the Empire I now rule."

Gimli nodded. He could understand the pain and terror that would come from such displays of power. "But now you have an Empire, and order. Could you not do what was done in the lands of Mat, where the White Tower and the Black stand side by side?"

Tuon hesitated, and the dwarf wondered if she would speak. When she did, her voice was quiet. "It is a thought I have pondered often. However, even the Empress has her limits. I could not now free all the damane. And my lands, those across the sea, are in disarray." Now her voice turned cold with frozen tears, and she spoke of a powerful magician named Semirhage, a lady that sounded more like an orc. "She killed my entire family for the Shadow, and now every Lord is turned against every other. Chaos rules in Seander."

Aragorn had come over, and his eyes were wide. "But men are strong. I have heard of the one called the Dragon, and even you, Tuon, are a strong woman. If this is what men will become, I have great hope. At least most men will never join with evil."

Gimli wondered what happened to the dwarves, but he knew men would have the ascendency. He sighed. "Lass, you know I know little of the affairs of men. But I agree with the ranger. You will do what must be done for your country."

Gimli knew that the woman needed encouragement. All needed encouragement, and her most of all, especially considering that Eru had pulled her out of her plans to restore order. She had a look that said she didn't need it, but Gimli knew better. Even Dain needed a counselor that would give wisdom, and Gloin had been that counselor for many a year.

Tuon sighed. 'Thank you," she said. "Still, I long to be like the heroes of old. I hear your history." Gimli almost thought she might be blushing, but it was hard to tell with her dark skin. "I want to be the next Hawkwing, but more than that, I want to be like Luthien, who walked right into evil's lair."

Mat gripped her hand. Gimli smiled. Most dwarf men did not marry. He did not expect that he would. But it was always a pleasure to see the love that Eru had put into the universe played out.

Teslyn smiled. In that stern face, it was a shock. "If anyone can put Seander back together, it would be her," she said. "She is brave and bold, and I see it even more, here where she does not have her court around her."

Gimli finally felt his eyes sliding shut, but as he did, he could not help thinking that men didn't need dwarves or elves after all.

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Aragorn had heard the sad story of the Seanchan Empire, and sent up a prayer toward the West. Maybe, by being in Middle Earth, the Empress would be encouraged. It sounded as though she was, and was holding onto the examples of old.

But the pursuit was foremost in his mind. As soon as they had rested enough, they pressed on. Aragorn could feel the graininess of his eyes. Even Teslyn's work was not perfect. But it was helpful, and gave him strength he did not know he had, strength to begin climbing the long downs that lay in their path. The others followed, the elf beside him, and the dwarf in the back, racing with Mat.

Another day they rested, hiding in a hollow of the downs. But his sleep was confused, filled with the sound of hoofbeats. Was it, then, that he dreamed of the Rohirrim? In the gray before twilight, he woke. Teslyn was already awake, her eyes shadowed. "I can no longer feel the Shadowspawn," she said sadly. "I think they have left us behind."

"We will not stop," Aragorn said, laying with an ear to the ground. "In fact, I think..." the rumor of the earth was confused. He could faintly hear marching feet, but over it was a sound of horses. He rose. "Legolas, what do you see?"

The elf, standing up on a rock, shaded his eyes against the sun. "Horses," he said. "They are coming our way. The sun twinkles on their swords."

"There was a rumor that these Rohirrim served Sauron," Tam said cautiously. "Perhaps we should wait to meet them."

"I believe that rumor as much as Boromir," Aragorn said. "And we need news. Still, hide beyond the rock until I say to come out." He peeked out as they approached. They were a full company, perhaps 200 men. He almost thought he knew the captain, and as they came closer, he was almost sure.

He popped out. "What news from the North, riders of Rohan?"

Immediately the captain made a signal, and two hundred horses made a circle around the Company. Within minutes, spears surrounded the company on every side. Mat laughed, and Aragorn wondered why, as the captain rode forward, removing his helm. Now Aragorn was certain. He knew Eomer was an honorable man.

"What business do an elf, a dwarf, and three men have in the Mark? Along with two woman? Speak quickly!" The command, barked, showed that something was wrong. Normally the Mark was more open. Aragorn sighed as Gimli spoke.

"Give me your name, horse-master, and I will give you mine!" Now it was a challenge. Aragorn motioned to the Company, telling them to be quiet.

"It is polite for the guest to speak first. But I am Eomer Eomund's son, Captain of the Riders of the Mark." He drew himself up, proud and strong, and Aragorn, used to royalty, almost saw a king. When Theoden died, he would do well. Eomer was speaking again. "You wear strange gear, Master Dwarf. From where do you come?"

"The Lady of the Golden Wood gave us this gear," Gimli said proudly.

Eomer's eyes darkened. "So there is a witch in the Golden Wood, as the old tales tell."

Aragorn felt the dwarf stiffen, and he spoke to forestall any trouble. "We seek orcs. Have you seen them?"

Eomer nodded shortly. "We came on them last night. They were no match for our horses."

"Was there any others with them? A man, and two halflings? The man would have looked like a blacksmith, and the others like children."

Eomer shook his head. "No, but...your cloaks blend into earth and sky. Had you not spoken, we would not have seen you. Perhaps they did escape." Aragorn wanted more assurance, but he knew that he could not ask for more. He dipped his head.

"Hasufel, Arod. Brega. Brego. Theolaf." Five horses came up, empty saddles showing that there had been casualties in the battle as well. They stood patiently, waiting, only an occasional stamp on the ground showing their energy.

"May they bear you to greater fortune than their former masters," Eomer said. "We must ride on. The king no longer knows friend from foe, not even among his own kin. We hunt the orcs without his leave." He whistled, and his company formed up again. "We ride north!" Within minutes, they were gone.

"I didn't even have a chance to introduce myself," Mat grumbled.

"You'll be a lord yet," Tuon said. She went over to Theolaf, a fine bay with muscles that spoke of speed and endurance. Aragorn smiled. Any ruler would know horses, and Mat's father, by all accounts, had been a fine horse trader. He himself went to Hasufel, a black stallion with quick steps. Gimli, with Legolas' urging, decided to share Arod, while Tam took Brego and Teslyn Brega, a male and female pair, both with the same speckled coloring.

"Eomer gave hope," Aragorn said. "Elven cloaks may have helped them escape. We will not abandon them unless we find their bodies. At least we no longer have to worry about fighting two hundred orcs." He searched for the trail, and as he expected, it went toward the smoke in the distance. His keen nose caught the stink of burning orc bodies, but Teslyn breathed easier. If there had been orcs remaining, her keen senses would have picked them up.

The field of burning was a gruesome sight. A pile of carcasses still smoked and steamed, and in front was a huge head set on a pike. It must have been the leader of the band. Throwing up a hand to halt the others, he rode forward alone, scanning to see if any tracks came off the main trail. He soon saw what he sought, and waved the others over.

"Look!" he said, pointing to a patch of ground.

Gimli spoke for all. "The hobbits and the King lay here. And..." he reached into the trampled grass. "Here are the ropes they were bound with." He held them up.

"What's this?" Mat said, reaching into the grass again and pulling out a blade with a monster's head. "Is this what cut their bonds?"

"Orc knife," Legolas said, looking at it. "No spells lay on it." He took it with distaste, then threw it down, trampling on it in fury.

Teslyn pointed now. "Look. There is blood." She put it to her mouth, face curling in distaste. "Not human." She wiped her mouth, then drank to wipe away the taste.

"Can you read the riddle?" Tuon asked, a hint of challenge in her voice. She had dismounted, and was looking at the ground.

"I believe so," Aragorn said, smiling. "An orc wanted them to himself, to deal with slowly at his convenience." He pointed to heavy marks in the ground, the sign of a struggle. "Perrin fought, but it was not enough. The riders finished the orc, and then Perrin cut himself free, then the hobbits." He picked up something white and crumbled it in his fingers. "And then they ate a cake of lembas before they escaped."

"But where?" Mat asked. "It is well they had their wits, but where could they go?"

Aragorn remounted again, and picked up the trail. It led north, toward the woods. The heavy tracks of Perrin were plain to see, as were the light, delicate steps of the hobbits. The others followed, eyes on the ground.

As he suspected, the tracks led to the wood. He stopped at the nearest tree and dismounted. The others did, as well. "Here lies Fangorn forest," he said, "oldest of the woods of Middle-Earth."

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Tam wondered why they had stopped. Why not go into the wood? But those from Middle-Earth were looking around anxiously. Apparently the wood had a reputation. Tam almost wanted to laugh. So did the Westwood, and he had farmed there since he was a young man.

At his companion's confused looks, he explained about his home. Aragorn shook his head. "The stories told about your wood were just stories. Here, though, there is a legend of truth. Some power lives in this wood, and those with evil intent who enter are never seen again."

Tam wondered. "Legolas and Teslyn, you can both sense evil. What do you feel?"

Teslyn shook her head, showing she felt nothing, but the elf put a hand on a tree and listened. "There is no evil, or what is evil is far away. But the wood is...angry. As though it has been roused. Be careful of your weapons."

Tam knew the elf would not lie. He carefully sheathed his sword, and motioned for Gimli to lower his axe. He did, slowly. Teslyn shrugged and motioned to Tuon. Mat sighed and grounded his spear. Aragorn spoke. "We are weary, and have come far. Let us rest here tonight. We can pursue them into the wood tomorrow."

Tam helped the dwarf gather chips of wood, and soon a fire was burning. Tuon fell asleep almost as soon as she had drunk a little tea, and Teslyn was just as weary. Tam didn't blame them. A long chase such as they had done would exhaust any man, and he rubbed his own eyes. But someone still had to guard the camp. Gimli volunteered, and Tam sat up with him for a little while, talking softly of this and that.

Later in the night he woke up. The fire had burned down, though Gimli was still awake, walking back and forth. There was a prickling between his shoulder blades that spoke of danger. Softly, he stood up, not waking the others, and went over to the dwarf. "I feel danger," he whispered, and the dwarf nodded his head. Tam began to circle out, first checking the horses, while Gimli walked the other way, toward the wood.

The horses were peaceful, but Tam could not ignore the feeling of danger. He went back toward the dwarf, walking backwards. He had nearly reached the fire when suddenly the horses reared and pulled their lines. He ran toward them, but it was too late. The horses had scattered, and he watched them go, unable to move.

Aragorn was at once up, and he questioned the two of them. Tam shook his head, and so did the dwarf. "We saw nothing. I can think of only one person that could spook horses from a distance."

"Saruman," Aragorn spat. "Well, he will be dealt with, but not by us. Let us pass the rest of the night. We still have our journey to complete. I will take the rest of the watch."

"Very well," Gimli growled. "But when I see the White Wizard, I will put a dent in his hat!"

181818

Tuon could only agree. They had no horses, and they were faced with a long march through a dangerous forest. Words of the elf or no, she would hold the Power. They would not be surprised again.

As soon as they awoke, they ate a cold meal and pressed on. She was surprised as they walked. The wood was old and wild, but peaceful, in a way. She kicked up drifts of leaves, and drank often at the stream that bordered the trail. The Entwash seemed to wash away her tiredness, and she found herself pressing on with a light heart.

She examined the tracks with Aragorn. Never had she done tracking, and she found the art an interesting one. She could see Perrin and the hobbits clear, but she found other tracks too, tracks even Aragorn could not explain. They paralleled the tracks of the captives, and Aragorn's brow came down in concern.

"Let us press on," he said. "I do not like these tracks."

They had come to a hill, rising out of trees like an island, and Aragorn suggested they take the lay of the land. Everyone else nodded, and they began to climb the natural staircase on its side. The steps were not made for human hands or feet, but they persevered and reached the top. Tuon was astounded. They had come nearly to the roots of the mountains, and the River could not even be seen. To the east, wide plains of grass stretched to the distance, the kingdom of Rohan, and to the west, the mountains reared up. South of them were more mountains, the White Mountains of Gondor, and to the north, the trees marched, league on league into the haze.

"Have we really come so far?" she asked as they descended again.

"Yes," Aragorn said. He was smiling, and Tuon realized the entire Company had a lighter heart. She even hummed an old Seanchan marching tune.

Suddenly Teslyn hissed. "Someone with power approaches," she said.

Tuon's good mood vanished instantly. She knew who it must be. Angry, she formed and held the weave for a fireball. She'd do more than singe his beard if she could. For waylaying the hobbits, for capturing royalty, and for producing an army of orcs, he should be condemned. For leaving his first position and becoming evil, he should be destroyed.

Now she saw white moving through the trees toward them. "We must be quick," Gimli said. "He will put a spell on us." He held both his axes, ready to throw. Tuon looked around. All of them were ready. Crouching behind a rock, they waited for a clear shot.

"Now!" Teslyn and Aragorn shouted together. She launched her fireball hard, while Teslyn threw a bigger. Gimli's axes and Legolas' arrow sparked as they flew. And Tuon gasped with shock. Her fireball unwove as though she was a novice. The wizard, moving fast, batted away the other weapons as though they were toys.

"Who are you?" Aragorn shouted. "Show yourself!"

Slowly the light around the figure faded away, and Aragorn yelled, a sound of triumph and wonder. "It cannot be!"

All Tuon could do was bow her head. "Gandalf," she whispered.

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Teslyn had grown up in a world where the Pattern wove what it wove, and there were no miracles. To be sure, Rand had done many things that people marveled at, but that could be explained by his ta'veren nature.

But here was a miracle. She had heard the story of Gandalf's fall, fighting with a demon of the ancient world, and had never expected to see him in the flesh. Now here he was, holding a power she could never hope to match. Even the Dragon might have trouble. She bowed, overwhelmed, as though she were a novice again, face nearly touching the ground.

Gandalf laughed, a silvery laugh. "Teslyn Baradon of the Red Ajah, there is no need to bow." She rose, and looked into his face. Those eyes were kind, but there was anger behind them as well, anger against every evil thing.

"I come at the turn of the tide," he said, facing the Company. "It goes ill with the king of Rohan."

"Moiraine Sedai feared some corruption," Aragorn said. "She left with her husband to try and undo it."

"Even Moiraine cannot undo what ails the king," Gandalf said. "For that, I must go." He faced the others. "Saruman has him under what some call Compulsion."

Teslyn hissed. Compulsion was vile, a thing of the Shadow. No Aes Sedai would ever use it, unless they were a Black sister. She wondered why Gimli was so upset. Now she could feel her anger rising. She had seen maps. What Saruman had done was clever and very wicked. By capturing the king, the dark wizard had opened up Gondor's flank. Now they could be attacked from two directions at once.

Gandalf seemed to guess some of her thoughts. "Yes. It is wicked. And time presses. It is shorter than you know. I must ride now with all speed, and I will not be going alone."

"Our horses are gone. I doubt we can walk back over the plains of Rohan, even if we were willing."

They had reached the borders of the wood, and the plains lay before them. Gandalf put a finger to his mouth and whistled, a tone high and clear. A whinny came back, and soon a horse appeared. Pure white, it ran as though it were the wind made visible. Teslyn was a fair rider, but even she was stunned by its beauty. Mat looked as though he wanted to bow. Behind it came their five horses.

"This is Shadowfax, Lord of Horses, and my companion through many dangers." Indeed, wizard and horse acted as though they were friends. Teslyn marveled at it, but her own horse was nuzzling her. Making soothing noises, she mounted. Unused to riding bareback, she nevertheless had soon discovered horses here were unused to saddles, and Brega was gentle, carrying her safely.

As they rode, Teslyn talked to Gandalf, finding out about the wizard and his journey to the edge of death and back. He looked at her. "I have seen your world. It is safe, still, though what your great leader said is true. 'The last battle done, but the world not done with battle.' He also knows where you have gone and why. Those that must know soon will."

Teslyn nodded. A vision, then, Rand must have had. She also mulled over Gandalf's other words. "I guess it is the Seanchan. Their nation is still in disarray, and to restore it will take the shedding of blood."

Gandalf nodded soberly. "It is, and it will. Still, do not despair. The nations are more than capable, now that they have been united under a common cause, and the forces working to divide them are no more. Those that have been left will have all the help they wish for."

Tuon came up now. She looked relieved, but all she said was, "Then it is well. I did not think the other nations would abandon mine, but it is well to know. Tell me, wizard, I know we are here to help defeat the Dark One here, but why us? Why not any others?"

Gandalf frowned. "Of that I am not certain. Doubtless it will be made clear in time. Still, your world has produced mighty warriors. Whether you or others, we are glad to have that help. The future of men is very bright, though many mistakes have been made."

Teslyn was stunned at the compliment. "Many ages have gone by. The beginning of men also led to mighty warriors. Beren, Earendil, Turin the Helm. We do not have such stories."

"But it has continued," Gandalf said. "Without the aid of elves and dwarves, who even now have begun to fade. Some believe that their aid is necessary but I see the Valar are right. Men will do well with their dominion."


	12. Chapter 12-Deliverance

Chapter 11- Deliverance

 **A/N- I had a reviewer ask if, when Gandalf reappeared, if the Hunters should have asked about the hobbits. That is a fair point, but I think it is assumed that they would have found out on the ride to Edoras. I don't think Gandalf wanted to wait around.**

 **About Boromir, yes, he was a noble man. Which is why he tried to apologize to Frodo before his death. However, the prejudices of his people would not be wholly erased. Considering that Tuon does have unknown magic, and considering she looks like a Haradrim, I don't think his reaction and his thinking is totally unwarranted, even if it is slightly unfair. It is my opinion that he later realized that his thinking was, in fact, unfair, even if I did not show that in my story.**

 **I've also considered that I don't write in either the LOTR or WoT styles. I do not. I cannot pull off the talents of Tolkien or Jordan. However, it is my wish to continue to make the characters as realistic as possible. I do appreciate the fact that I get so many reviews and suggestions for making the story better! Thank you all very much! I do consider everything that is said-and will hopefully continue to get better. =)**

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Moiraine rode slowly as they approached the city on a hill. It held not a candle on the great cities of her world, but she knew men were yet young. The settlements would grow. Still, here was a king-and a king under bondage. She could almost feel the evil growing.

Thom nodded to his left. A banner, a white horse on a field of green, had ripped free and was now lying on the ground. Thom leaned out from his saddle to pick it up. Moiraine nodded her approval. All nations should have their banner, and no nation should be dishonored. That she knew. But the king's deliverance would not be as easy.

The guards at the gate were suspicious, but they looked courteously on her as she told her story. "We are refugees," she said. "I am Lady Damodred, and this is Master Merrilin. We seek lodging for the night."

The gateguard nodded. "There are few inns, but they are all empty at the moment." He dipped his head. "From what nation do you come?"

"We come from far away, beyond the Black Land. We refuse to join with Sauron." It was not

quite a lie, though there was no way to explain to the simple gateguard about the Wheel. She simply dipped her head. "We seek no trouble here."

"Very well," the gateguard said. "I will let you pass. I am sure a shelter can be found for you." With that, he motioned, and the great gates opened.

As they rode, Moiraine reflected that the same atmosphere that had been so prevalent in Tear was now prevalent here- a feeling of dispirited gloom. It gave her insight into how the dark wizard was working. From what Galadriel and Aragorn had told her, the people of Rohan were fierce, courageous warriors. Sapping their courage would lead to their defeat. But they were also loyal to their king. If she could heal him...

"I sense your thoughts," Thom said. "You are worried."

"An inn first," Moiraine said. "Then we will talk." She soon found one, the White Horse. It was clean, and the proprietor was dressed in a clean white apron. The common room was filled with soldiers. Some were officers, from the way they spoke and talked.

"Do you think?" Thom said. Moiraine nodded as the innkeeper brought mugs of ale. As she sipped, she listened to the conversation around her. Many of the officers were angry. Orcs were all through Rohan, but they had orders to sit and wait.

"Grima has more influence with the king than is proper," one said.

"He's more snake than man," another muttered. "I remember when he first came to court. He helped the king, but now..."

The proprietor came back, leading someone. "I hope you don't take it amiss, but Hama, captain of the king's guard, wishes to speak to you." Moiraine nodded. Hama was a big man, with a red beard and hair. He rested his gauntleted hands on the table.

"You are the first travelers in Rohan for quite some time," he said. "I hope you don't mind me asking, but are you royalty? You remind me of Eowyn, the king's cousin. She has an authority about her that you also possess."

Thom started, and suddenly a knife was on the table between them. Hama nodded. "And your companion is a fighting man." Moiraine looked at his eyes. There was sudden hope there, and she knew that not all had given up.

"We will help," she said, answering the unspoken question. "I think you should tell more of what we will face." She sipped at the ale. She would have preferred wine, but she would not complain. Her drink turned to ashes in her mouth as Hama spoke. Grima's thugs were in the palace, and the leader of the palace guard had no authority to command officers. Worse, Grima

stalked Eowyn, hoping to take her for his own. Worst, the king only spoke what Grima commanded.

Hama nodded at Thom. Slowly, they moved from table to table. Moiraine remained, thinking over the implications of what the man had said. Definitely Compulsion, with an eye to completely overthrow the kingdom, and it would take all her skill. No wonder the mood in the city was so dark, if their king had been bespelled.

Soon the two men came back with an officer, his horse-hair plumed helmet under his arm. "My men will deal with Grima's thugs," he said. "Let us go to the palace now." He whistled, and immediately men were forming up behind him. The innkeeper bustled back out of the kitchen, apparently at a word from one of the soldiers.

"Your horses will be safe here," he said. "So will your saddlebags. We will arrange it now." He disappeared toward the back, where their horses were hitched.

It was a long climb toward the palace. The hill was steep, and sometimes, an arm from Thom was the only thing holding her up. As they approached the golden hall, Moiraine saw someone standing on the steps. Dressed in a long white dress, her golden hair streamed out in the wind. This had to be Eowyn, the king's cousin. As they come close, she was proved correct. Hama went down on one knee.

"Lady," was all he said.

"Who are these with you?" Eowyn said.

"Help," Hama said. "There are about to be some changes here. Changes I think you wish to see."

"Thank the Valar," Eowyn said. Moiraine was shocked. Though Eowyn held herself strong, her voice was weary, almost despairing. She loved her uncle, it was clear, and Moiraine's heart went out to her. Her uncle had been Laman, the Treekiller, who had plunged the West into war. But Theoden was different, touched by darkness, and not consumed by pride.

The hall itself was dark, and her feet echoed on marble. Thom walked beside her, his sharp blue eyes missing nothing. She could see the men hiding in the corners, behind pillars carved with running horses, not standing boldly by their master's side. At the end of the hall was a dais, and on it, a throne made of black wood. Only the hint of gold was visible, and that the crown on the man who sat upon it. Moiraine shuddered. So this was Theoden, and the man who lounged in fur at the king's feet...

Thom let out a growl, and immediately drew a dagger, walking toward the Wormtongue, who was suddenly standing, yelling for his men. The captain Thom had found gave no hope of that.

Moiraine kept walking forward, the sounds of fighting behind her. Grima backed up, right into Thom's iron fist. He held the thin man easily, a dagger tickling his throat, and his eyes showed murder.

Moiraine approached the throne. Theoden's eyes were glazed, and his hair thin and white, but those arms were arms used to fighting. They needed a sword. Eowyn was behind her. "Hold the king," Moiraine commanded. Eowyn grabbed him firmly by the shoulders. Holding the Power, Moiraine reached out, placing both hands on the king's head.

She had seen Compulsion before. This was worse, a haze of darkness completely surrounding the king's mind, pulsing and growing even as she watched. Long lines led away, toward the west. So Saruman was controlling him, with Wormtongue an intermediary. She had heard what Rand had done to the Forsaken. Perhaps...making a knife with the Power, she sliced at the lines of darkness. They cut easily, and she immediately put a warding around the king. The darkness was still there in his mind, but it was growing no more.

Letting go of the Power, she sank down. Eowyn caught her. "What happened?" she said.

"I cut the spell," Moiraine said. "Saruman's reach is gone. However, to fully heal the king will take more than what I have. A wizard, or one of my own order, must do this." She spoke truly. If Nynaeve was there, all would be well. But she was not.

"Are you..." Eowyn asked, eyes wide. "And the one with you..."

Moiraine would explain, later, but they had to deal with Wormtongue first. She looked at Eowyn, and the princess understood. "Place him in the dungeon," she said in a voice of cold iron. "And if any of his men are still alive, treat them and place them there. In absence of my brother, and with the king's mind still overthrown, I rule in Edoras."

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Tam blinked as they approached Edoras. It was strong, and the gold sparkled on the palace. Above the gold, a banner sparkled, a running white horse on a field of green. It was not a city, but a fortress, and a strong one. His military mind was already working, wondering what could be done in case it was attacked.

Gandalf smiled as he approached the gate. A red-bearded man smiled back. "Hama!" the wizard said. "How goes it in Edoras?"

"Better than I hoped," Hama said. "A lady and her husband came about a week before you. They have not freed the king completely, but the influence of Wormtongue has been broken. They give their names as Moiraine and Thom." He smiled. "Apparently she is a lady from far away."

Tam smiled. The trust that the Golden Lady was putting in Moiraine was paying off. Hama smiled back. "Apparently you are expected. The Lady Moiraine did not say you would come, but she did say you might. The lookouts on the wall saw you coming."

Gandalf clapped Hama on the shoulder. "Let us finish this business. I take it Eowyn now rules?"

"Until her uncle is restored, yes." Hama showed hope it might be possible. Tam hoped it might be, too. If the Rohirrim were anything like Eomer, they were courageous and bold. With a king to lead them, they would make even this Dark Lord afraid.

Teslyn and Tuon looked at each other. Tam expected they were gathering the Power. Hama nodded at their look. "The Lady Moiraine keeps vigil over the king. Thom is even now beginning to gather the eoreds together. Eowyn knows there will be an attack beyond brigands and orcs in the Westfold. But it will take a king to lead us. Come."

Tam knew Thom and Moiraine would waste no time. He was glad. As they rode up toward the Golden Hall, he caught the mood of cautious optimism. The people, most clad in black, watched him and his company ride, their eyes sad. Yet some looked with expectation.

The ones with power did not wait, but strode into the fortress. Tam sat on the step, Mat beside him. Hama sat with them, telling what Moiraine had already done. Tam knew most nobles did not appreciate others meddling in their realms. He wondered what a restored king would do, but Hama thought the king would appreciate the preparations. It was not as though Moiraine or Thom were ruling the kingdom for the king, but simply putting things in motion. So he said, anyway.

Soon enough, the others came out, the king with them. Tam was taken aback at the king's eyes. For just being delivered, they were hard. His brown hair was combed back, and the gold of his crown sparkled in the sunlight. Tam went down on one knee, and even Mat dipped his head.

"Rise," the king said, his voice commanding. "Rise, Eorlingas."

Next to Tam, Hama rose. "King," he said. Tam could see that the captain of the guard was thrilled with joy to see his king restored, and he shared in that joy.

Theoden turned to Gandalf. "Are these the rest of your assembly?" he said. Gandalf nodded, and the king smiled. "It is well. They have done what I would wish, and I am grateful for their service. But where is Theodred? Where is my son?"

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Mat was grieved and joyful, along with all the other members of the Company. The king was restored, and the armies of Rohan were gathering. But the king's son was dead. Mat had gone

with Tuon to the mounds outside the city, where he was laid to rest. The funeral song, though he did not understand the words, had touched his heart, and he was sober now.

He scowled as Grima was brought in. Mat had heard the king talk about him, and never in a complimentary way. Wormtongue was the one that had poisoned the king's mind for Saruman, the dark wizard. It reminded him too much of how the Forsaken had worked, using proxies to move and manipulate nations. He was sure he knew what the king would decide. He knew what he would have done.

The king simply stared at his former counselor, those brown eyes like hammers. Grima had shifted under that silent gaze, until finally he had spoken. "Do not send me from your service, lord," he said.

At that, the king had erupted. Springing from his throne, he came to loom over the shorter man. "Service, you say? Your leechcraft would have had me crawling on all fours like a beast! And what of Eowyn, my sister-daughter?" Eowyn, standing beside the king, looked at him coldly, and he looked back, a leer at the corners of his mouth. Theoden noticed, and his sword flashed from its scabbard.

"What of Theodred, my son, who lies buried?" the king roared. "Or the towns burned in the Westfold?" The sword came down, stopping just short of Wormtongue's neck. Aragorn and Gandalf both looked on, both of them giving no sign as to their thoughts. Mat waited for the sword to finish its stroke, watching it vibrate with the force of the king's anger.

Slowly, Theoden mastered himself. He lifted the sword slowly, resheathing it. "You still follow your true master. I suggest you go and...talk to him." He looked grim. "Hama, get him out of my sight."

Mat watched as the big, red-haired man took hold of Grima, none too gently, and dragged him from the hall. He was not exactly shocked, but he still felt disturbed at the king's decision. A clean death would have been better. If the fallen wizard was anything like the Forsaken, Wormtongue would not have a warm welcome. He also was alarmed at the chance that information about him and his friends would spread to the wrong ears. But he was not the king. He simply stood, waiting.

Tuon looked at him, and he could see the same thoughts mirrored in her eyes. He also saw the need for her to talk to him alone later. But the king was speaking, his eyes cold.

"Lord Mat, are you a general?"

Mat nodded. "I think it would be fair to say that all of us have fought, and fought hard. But yes. I am." He wondered what the king would want, and wasn't sure what the king would decide.

"Do you know much about this kingdom?" Theoden asked. "What do you think of these defenses?" Mat thought about how to answer. He did not want to say the Uruk-Hai would swarm over the walls and burn the whole city with everyone inside. He did want to talk about the enemy they faced, and spoke slowly, talking about the ambush at the Anduin, the chase over Rohan, and Eomer's fight.

"The decision is yours to make, your majesty. All I can speak of is what I saw."

Theoden tapped his lips. "This city cannot be defended if the enemy shows his full strength. What if we draw him away, setting only a small guard to keep the city safe? Engage him where we can defend behind walls of stone?" He called for a map, and soon it was before him, rolled out on the table, weighted down with stones. "What about here?"

Mat looked at the map, which showed a fortress called Helm's Deep. He liked it as soon as he saw it. It was strong, with two walls and a citadel, with caves behind that could be blocked, and a tunnel through the mountains. He looked at Gandalf. "You know your old friend," he said. "Would he want to capture the places of strength, or would he go after the city?"

"He would want the king," Gandalf said. "If we were to go to Helm's Deep, he would send his army, no matter the strength of the walls."

"You heard the wizard," Mat said. "I will do whatever you decide." He puffed from his pipe. "I am sure my friends will as well." The others nodded agreement.

"We serve you," Tuon said. "And I am sure our strength will aid you." A fireball appeared in her hand, only for a moment, but it was enough. "We will see if the orcs like fire."

Theoden smiled. It was a grim smile, but still a smile. "Then let us rest. Tomorrow, we ride for Helm's Deep."

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Tuon was also disturbed by the king's decision. She thought her justice was hard, but even her own enemies she would not give to the Forsaken, and this dark wizard sounded like their equal. Still, she had kept her own thoughts to herself. She had no authority here, and would only give her advice if the king asked for it.

After they were dismissed, she and Mat were shown to a small apartment. The servant who came, a slight, dark woman, drew a bath and left them robes for sleeping. Tuon was not uncomfortable with her husband seeing her, and slipped into the hot water, hoping it would release the stink of months of travel.

"I have not had a bath since Lorien, and a proper bed since Rivendell," she said. "I am starting to

feel like the farmgirls King Perrin kept talking about." She saw her husband's grin widen, and held up a finger. "Not until you are clean," she said.

Mat pretended to pout. "Do you think our baby is safe?" He said. "I trust Gandalf's vision, but I know some of the nobles would rather see Bode...disappear."

"The Gardeners will protect her. So will the Deathwatch Guard. And I would hate to see Min angry. Maybe not my equal, but her knife work is impressive. Our daughter will survive until we return."

"Even if the Ring is destroyed, how do we get back? Even Gandalf does not know how we came. Though he did see our world when he was at the edge of death. There must be a bridge."

Tuon wrung out her hair. "We will return, my husband. I have no doubt. But I have been thinking...I was asked by the dwarf if perhaps the damane could be freed. I know you would like that, but our history is built on them. And with the Empire divided, it is almost as though the Armies of the Night have returned again. How do I cut this knot?" She trusted Knotai, and though he was not Selucia, he was her husband, and he loved her.

Mat paced, puffing on his pipe. "True. The damane fight for whatever lord has claimed them. But if you restore order, they can then be freed. Yes, I know you take a risk. Some of them may be Darkfriends. But I believe there are ways to find out."

Tuon's eyes darkened at the thought of damane serving the Dark One. She knew it was possible. Still, the logic of what Knotai said encouraged her. She could talk to one of the Aes Sedai. The Tower was clean of its corruption, she knew that much. She would find out how it had been done.

It was true, the thought made her feel sick. Leashed Ones running free. But had she not seen the White Tower, and even the Black, standing side by side, working to heal rather than kill? Had not Gandalf, with the power of the Dragon himself, healed the king, and doing it without thought of reward? She had all around her the examples of good magic. Even the elves, though they were of a different race. Wasn't it time, perhaps, to let go of her prejudice? Maybe, in time, her people would as well.

Mat sank into the tub with a sigh, but his eyes asked for an answer. "I will think on it," she said. "A thousand years of tradition is not overcome all at once." But she could channel herself. That, at least, was something to consider. If she could not leash herself, could she leash anyone else?


	13. Chapter 13- All for One

12- All for one

Perrin came to himself slowly. He lay on grass, and was bound by rough ropes. He remembered the fight, and wondered why they were not dead. The orcs were not known for being merciful. He rolled over to look for anyone else, and was rewarded with a spinning head. He must have been knocked out, then, but when his vision cleared, he saw Merry and Pippin, not far away. Merry had a gash across his forehead, but Pippin looked unharmed. Both were bound, as he was.

He was grateful. Faile had gotten away, at least. He was sure that even if she was alone, that she would come after him. He almost thought she could free him, too, if she was angry enough.

A rough chuckle made him look the other way. A boot in the ribs made him look up into a mean face, full of crooked teeth and the permanent leer of orc kind. This brute was big, and Perrin pushed back a thought of taking him. Escape, not battle, was probably their only hope. Especially since the leader of the band was surrounded by his fellows. Yes, they had given a good account, but at least two score still stood, or lay on the ground.

"I should kill you right here," the leader growled. "You killed many of the lads, and that's unfortunate. But the White Hand wants you, and these fellows also." He laughed as Perrin's head spun again. He growled, and another orc came up with a flask and a bottle of some white substance. He opened the flask and poured it into Perrin's mouth. It tasted awful, far worse than any of Nynaeve's herbs. Still, it drove away his dizziness and helped him to stand. The hobbits were getting the same treatment, and Merry cried as the nearest orc smeared the white ointment onto his wounds.

The orcs were forming up in a double line, and Perrin was put toward the front, the hobbits toward the back. At once, the leader began to run, and Perrin followed, not daring to do anything yet. Not until he knew more. The pace was stiff, but not too bad. He could keep it up for quite some time, and even orcs had to eat. He had no doubt his chance would come.

As he ran, he thought. He had overheard Moiraine speak of the king of Rohan. It seemed his mind was overthrown by the dark wizard. Still, not all men would follow the king into darkness, surely. Even in his own world, the Forsaken had not controlled everyone. Some loyal horseman had to be out there, somewhere. He had hope that the Fellowship and these horsemen would meet.

Suddenly he had an idea. His hands were unbound, cut so he could run more freely, and he grabbed at the brooch of his cloak, which, miraculously, the orcs had not touched. Letting the brooch fall, he hoped it would not be trampled too badly. Whoever was following would know they were still alive.

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Merry saw the brooch drop, and hoped that others were following. He was a halfling, and though he had faithfully walked the long miles from his home, he was no runner. Still, he had to hold on. He knew all the old stories about kings- they protected their people. And he knew enough about Perrin to know that he would die before he saw them harmed. He had to wait until the blacksmith had a chance to act.

Soon the night fell, and still they ran. Suddenly the leader held up a hand, and they stopped. Merry was heaving, and the ointment he had been given burned to the touch. Still, he looked around as he caught his breath. There was a gap, between the White Mountains of Gondor and the Misty Mountains they had been through so much to cross. And it stood in front of them.

So they were going directly to Isengard. He swallowed. Gandalf was stern, with a quick temper, and that was bad enough. Saruman, though, was evil. What he would want with them...suddenly it clicked. Saruman thought they had the Ring, and would tear them to the bone to find it. And Perrin, of course, would be wanted because he was half-wolf. He would...he shivered.

"What's the matter?" an orc said. "Thinking about Isengard and the White Hand? Oh, he wants you. Yes, my little friends, very much indeed."

"Let's tell him what he can expect," a slightly larger orc said. "We might as well have our fun." He snickered.

The leader came, then, and the two orcs turned to him. He towered over the smaller ones, but they still complained. "We haven't had nothing but moldy bread for two stinking days," they said. "What about them? Are they fresh?"

"They are not for eating," the big brute said. "The Master wants them alive and unspoiled."

"What about their legs?" the smaller orc whined. "They don't need tho-" he was cut off in a shower of blood, and his neck rolled to the ground. Then it was a free for all. When it was over, most of the smaller orcs were dead, and the taller orcs remained, though with some scratches and bruises. Merry had not dared to move. Besides, even if he did, where would they go? The flat grass would hide no one.

Then they moved on, this time being carried through the night. The leader kept frowning, looking from side to side and sniffing, but at what, Merry didn't know. Still they ran on, until all Merry knew was legs in front of him and legs behind him, until all he could remember was orcs and their stink. He could see Perrin, still running from up ahead, his head bowed. Even the Man had to be weary by now, but he never said a word.

Pippin looked over at him. His cousin jerked his head toward the king, and Merry shook his head. Pippin nodded, for the first time looking grim.

The moon was setting when the orcs stopped. The mountains were closer now. So was a dark forest, black against the stars. The leader was growling, angry, at one of his subordinates.

"The horse-men are on our trail," he growled. Merry's heart gave a leap. "I should have your ears, Snaga. You were not to be spotted."

"Them horsemen have eyes that can see in the dark," the other orc muttered. The leader seemed to accept that.

"We'll be surrounded, unless we can make it to the forest," he said. He stomped over to Merry and Pippin. "The lads are tired of carrying you. On your feet!" He cracked his long whip, and Merry pushed himself upright. Then they began to run, not with the long lope, but in a dead sprint. Somewhere from far away, a horn sounded, and he heard the beats of horses. Arrows flashed, and there was confusion as some of the orcs fell.

"Quickly," he heard a whisper. It sounded like the King. "Wrap your cloaks around you. Hurry,

now." Merry wasted no time, swinging his cloak around his shoulders as well as he could with bound hands. He saw Pippin do the same, even as hoofs thundered toward them. The King was already swallowed up in his cloak, but Merry remembered where his voice came from, and, low to the ground, crawled toward it, motioning for Pippin to do the same.

They had gone not ten paces when they were stopped by strong hand. Not Perrin's, but an orc. It was the one that had been sent by the leader, and come back in disgrace. He began to paw at them roughly, and Merry knew what was happening.

"You won't get it that way," he said.

"What?" the orc said. He was trembling, not with anger, but desire and confusion, the hobbit saw.

Merry made a noise in his throat. "Gollum, Gollum," he whispered.

The orc stopped. "Oho, very dangerous," he said. "Little hobbits, dealing with matters too high for them. The White hand doesn't know everything. The Red Eye will see him soon, oh yes."

Pippin smiled grimly in the darkness. "We don't like the White Hand either. What will you do in exchange?"

"Exchange, exchange?" the orc spluttered. "My dear hobbits, I can search you to the bone!" He grabbed at them roughly. The hoofbeats were much closer now, and Merry could see that the orcs were being trapped in a ring of shooting horsemen. The orc knew it too, by his desperate look.

Suddenly a horseman rose up, right in front of them, and a clear voice rang in challenge. A spear flashed, and the orc fell back, gurgling. Merry rolled out of the way of the hooves, not caring about his cloak in his eagerness to avoid being trampled. When the horse was past, he crawled over to where the dead orc lay, knife held in a stiff hand as neatly as he would have wished. He soon cut his own bonds, and gingerly held the knife to cut Pippin's. Now for the King...

"Here," Perrin's voice said. "That was a neat peace of work, figuring that orc's game. But we need to escape. In the darkness, these horsemen won't know friend from foe, and our cloaks won't protect us from hoofs."

"Why didn't they bind you like they did us?" Pippin whispered as they crawled slowly away, working blood into their legs made dizzy from lack of food and water. Perrin's shadow stood over them, walking slowly, holding the handle of the orc blade in a steady hand.

Perrin held his finger to his lips, and Pippin fell silent. Still, it was a question Merry wanted

answered as well, along with a host of others. He had seen the King bound, then not. Why?Slowly, they made their way toward the wood, moving more quietly than mice. Merry noticed that Perrin moved like a hunter, his steps soft and his eyes looking everywhere. It was obvious being a King had not made him soft. Soon they reached the eaves, and now Perrin spoke.

"What would I have done? There were too many. If anything, I am surprised they left you bound. I am part wolf, but that doesn't mean I can kill 30 enemies larger than I am. Not without a weapon. No, Pippin, I had to wait, and these horsemen gave me the opportunity."

Merry understood. "Still, you left a sign for those that might follow. That was clever." He broke the bread, and Perrin nibbled.

"I'd love to know the art of making these," he said. "Is there some magic, perhaps? One cake of ordinary bread wouldn't keep me on my feet. Not for longer than a few hours." He brushed crumbs away. "On your feet, you two. The danger isn't over yet, and I want to get deeper in the forest."

"Shouldn't we wait for the horsemen?" Pippin asked. Merry had to agree. Perrin shook his head.

"They have their own battle. Even if what the White Lady fears is not true, and Rohan is free, I have never known soldiers that like others in their affairs. We can make our way toward the capital later. For now, let's rest and see if we can find a stream. We need water."

Pippin nodded. "I heard a stream. This way."

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Perrin was impressed. The hobbits had done well to this point, but they were weary and tired. He did not feel much better, but they at least were free. Now they could recover from their ordeal.

Following Pippin's leading, they soon came to the stream. Peaceful and overshadowed with leafy branches, it was a quiet refuge from the battle they had witnessed. Walking along it, they soon found a place where they could drink. Perrin kept watch, stolen blade in hand, while the hobbits drank deeply. Then he took his turn, doing his best to wash away the blood and the foul taste of the orc-drought.

The first thing, of course, was to stretch out their food by hunting. The lembas was all well and good, but they did not know how far they would have to go until they found the capital, or the loyal horsemen. Rohan was large next to the kingdoms of men in his own world, and far emptier.

Pippin seemed to guess some of his thoughts. "There will be roots and nuts, and we are skilled

with stones. We can help to hunt. I do not believe we will starve."

Perrin had expected the offer. The little hobbits had courage out of proportion to their size, and they were at home in the wild, moving with a cat's grace. He was sure they would carry their weight, and more besides, as they had already.

"I want to get the lay of the land," he said. "I want to see how far we have come, and I need some air. It is...stuffy here."

Merry nodded. "Like a room that has not been cleaned in five hundred years. The land is rising. If we walk along the bank, eventually we should come to a hill." So they did, walking along the stream, and letting the peaceful, if shabby, forest wash away their pains. Soon enough they came to a rocky outcrop, rising above the forest like a island above the sea.

They climbed, Perrin in back. He had trouble with the rough steps, and he figured the hobbits would have more. There were a few tricky places, then they were up. The sun nearly blinded their eyes, then they could see. All that stood on the hill was an old stump of a tree, two gnarled branches outstretched like arms. Perrin had a flash of...something, and looked at the tree more closely. Still, it was just a tree, and he turned his eyes to the view.

He could see far. To the west, the Misty Mountains disappeared into the haze of the north. To the South, he could see the gap where Saruman dwelt, and the beginning of the White Mountains, their tops tipped with snow. To the East, the plains of Rohan marched into the distance. The River could not be seen. He was impressed. He knew distances, and they had come over forty leagues in three days.

From this view, also, the forest he thought shabby was lit up, giving the green of the leaves and the brown of the branches a soft glow. Aragorn had warned them about Fangorn, but perhaps there was nothing to fear, not here.

Merry seemed to agree. "I almost think I like the forest."

"Almost think you like the forest. That's uncommonly kind of you, little orcs." Perrin spun around, and looked into the tree he thought was dead. His only thought was that this world also had the Green Man. Although, looking closer, he saw the differences. The eyes were deeper, for one, and greener, and the body looked far older, with a a gnarled and battered trunk. The feet, five toed, grabbed the rock of the hill firmly. Also, his voice was slower and deep, like a great organ.

Perrin was startled, but he looked down at the hobbit's panicked expressions. "It is well," he said. "I have met a talking tree before."

Something flashed in the being's eyes, almost too fast to see, but then his deep voice boomed

out again. "I am no tree, little man, but an Ent, a shepherd of the forest!" His brown eyes turned fierce. "And here are two things that don't belong." He picked up Merry and Pippin. "Yes, my little orcs. They came with fire, they come with axes, they come with burning, usurpers and destroyers, bararum!" He began to squeeze, and Perrin knew he had to do something quick.

"They aren't orcs!" he cried. "They are hobbits! Halflings! They kill orcs!"

Something seemed to register. The fire went out of the eyes, and he slowly lowered them to the ground. "Pardon, little masters," he said. "You are two of the new thing I have never seen before. What are your names?"

"I am Peregrin Took, and this is Meriadoc Brandybuck." Perrin also gave his name, but not his title. He did not think the tree would be impressed. The Ent then gave his name as Treebeard. "Are you on our our side?" Pippin asked hopefully.

"I am not on anybody's side, just as no one is on my side. But you kill orcs, and this man has seen others of my kind. It is enough. I will take you to my home, and we will rest there tonight." He seemed to make up his mind. "Let us go. The sun has gone behind a cloud."

Indeed, it had, and slowly, they descended, the hobbits held in Treebeard's long hands, with Perrin following behind. Then they set off through the forest. As they walked, they talked more, and Perrin heard about the Valar and what they had done to keep the forest safe, the birth of the Ents and what Treebeard, the oldest, had seen. In turn, Perrin told of the Green Man and the gentle creature's sacrifice.

Treebeard was a good listener, and listened gently, only his eyes flickering with his thoughts. "Not my kind," he said. "Not exactly, barum. But close. We were told the Creator made but one world. You come from another."

"So I do," Perrin said. "Already, we change things by our presence." He was getting out of breath. Treebeard was tall, almost as tall as the Green Man, and walked swiftly. Treebeard noticed at once.

"Your pardon," the Ent said. "I have the strength to carry one more." Perrin, therefore, had the unique privelige of riding on Treebeard's shoulder, his thick arm wrapped around the neck. The Ent smelled like moss and dirt and old leaves, a very earthy, clean smell. Perrin breathed it in with delight, glad to not smell the stink of orc.

The land was rising toward the mountains, and Perrin could see the white tip of the nearest peak begin to turn rose with sunset before they arrived at Treebeard's home. In keeping with his nature, it was natural, built into the side of a hill, but clean. Treebeard stood under the fountain that made the living door, washing in the water, then entered in.

All that the alcove consisted of was a low bed, made of moss, and a stone table, set on two rough pillars. "You can sit on the table, little masters," the Ent said, moving around in the back, where it was already full dark. Perrin climbed up, and helped the hobbits, just in time to be presented with a stone bowl, filled with what looked like water. Well, he was thirsty, and would not turn down a drink. The ent had a larger bowl for himself, and at his nod, Perrin raised the bowl to his lips.

The blacksmith had drunk many different things, from the ale of the Two Rivers, and al'Vere's famous brandy, to the fine wines of the Saldaean court, even up to the cordials of Rivendell. This left them all behind. At first, it tasted like water, but then, at the edge of the tongue was the taste of...well, he tried to define it in his mind, but could not. The closest was the taste of a forest in spring. He felt as though he was a sapling himself, growing and stretching toward the sky, and even his hair seemed to curl.

He set down the bowl when he was done, his eyes wide. The Ent was smiling. "Very few are unchanged by our droughts," he said. "My pardon, but I do not have man-food."

Surprisingly, Perrin did not feel hungry, not after the drought, and said so. Even the hobbits, with their bottomless appetites, looked content. Slowly, the Ent lowered himself to the bed, putting his long hands behind his mossy hair, and looked at his guests expectantly.

18181818

Faile clambered over the stones, growling to herself. Well, she had been warned by Gandalf about the Emyn Muil, but the reality seemed even worse. No tree for shelter, and nothing to eat. At least, in this maze of rocks, no enemy would find them.

She had left the hobbits in a hollow, searching for a way down to the Marshes. She did not like the stink coming up, or the view across to the frowning fences of Mordor, but it was where they needed to go, and they were wasting time walking in circles.

All three of them had rope in their packs, given by the thoughtful elves, but the lengths were not enough to get down off the cliffs that formed the Emyn Muil's eastern border. Suddenly she started, seeing a possible way. Here, it seemed lower, and the rock was cracked, with resting places. If Perrin could climb up rocks and walls, then the hobbits should have no trouble here. She did not know about herself, but she would manage. She should be strong enough to hold her own weight.

She returned to where the hobbits were resting and told them. Sam grunted in approval, but Frodo seemed weary, and Faile had to repeat her news. "I am sorry, Lady Faile," Frodo said. "I am ready."

Worse than the trackless hills was Frodo's behavior. Faile knew what was causing it, too. She

was grateful for Moiraine's shielding, but she feared as they approached Mordor, the influence of the Ring would simply become greater. Frodo was already eating and sleeping less. She sighed. If it became worse, maybe Sam and her could come to a solution. Frodo's mind was still whole, however, and soon they were down.

Faile muttered. The rope was a guidepost to where they were. Hopefully, there were no orcs also lost in the hills, or any other monsters. "Frodo, did Gandalf say that Gollum...I mean Smeagol, has been following us?"

"He floated down the river," the hobbit said, also looking up at the rope. "But I don't think he followed us here. The rock is too hard. It will not take a track or a scent. Still, I don't like leaving the rope here." Suddenly he stiffened. Faile could feel it too, a sense of malevolent evil looking for them. Her eyes flashed toward Mordor.

"Yes," Frodo whispered. His eyes showed the fight within him, and slowly, his hand crept toward his jacket pocket. Faile knew, as clearly as she had ever known anything, that if he put on the Ring, here and now, all would be lost. She grabbed his hands, holding them tight, until the sense of evil passed.

Frodo was sweating, and looked wrung out. "The Eye is searching," he said. "Thank you for stopping me. If I had..."

Faile gently took his hand in hers. "But you didn't," she said. "You didn't." She still felt the pull of the Ring herself, but she was no fool. She knew what it would do to her, and what it had nearly done to the Fellowship. She pulled away from Frodo slowly, staring out toward the East.

While they were talking, Sam had gone over to the rope, and gave it a simple tug, almost in farewell. To everyone's shock, it fell down in a heap at his feet. "Some knot you tied," Frodo said with a smile, the first since the split of the Fellowship.

Faile looked at the gray strands thoughtfully. "If our cloaks can make us look like rocks, what might this rope be able to do? The power of the White Lady is impressive. Now, let us keep going. There is still a little daylight, and we have wasted enough time already." To that, there was no argument.

181818

That night, Sam couldn't sleep. He was bothered by Frodo's near miss, and Faile's kind response. He was glad she had come, and could see her sitting against a rock some distance away, keeping watch.

He looked over to his master. Frodo was stroking the Ring, and he didn't like that at all. He was sick of the whole business, but their task wasn't done yet. He thought about how he could make

Frodo's task easier, and could think of nothing except bearing the Ring for a time. Could he? Would he end up stroking the Ring himself, lusting for its power? Still, better him than his master.

Suddenly he was snapped from his dark thoughts. He had heard a rustle that did not sound normal. What Frodo had said about Gollum was true, which meant a different enemy. Drawing his sword, he nudged Frodo, who drew Sting. It was not blue, so it was not orcs.

Sam saw Faile creep over to him. "Gollum," she whispered. "I know it can't be, but all the descriptions Bilbo told match who he is. I don't think he saw me."

Frodo nodded. "Be very careful. He is far more dangerous than he looks. Sam, do you have your rope?"

Sam nodded. He was willing to capture the creature that had stalked them. Maybe he wasn't evil, but he would draw others that were. He had to become their prisoner, at the very least. Faile drew her own sword, and together, they waited.

Now they could hear Gollum's voice, a raspy hiss that Sam already hated. "Precious, precious," the miserable creature hissed. "They stole it from us, the Bagginses. They stole it! We need it, our precious." On and on it went, angry and pitiful. Now it was just above them, and with a hiss, Gollum dropped right in front of them.

Sam had seen Faile fight, and now she showed her skill again. With a growl, she soon had Gollum in an iron grip, but not before receiving some scratches and bruises. He twisted, but Frodo came over with his sword.

"You've seen this before, haven't you?" he said, his voice not the gentle one that Sam had always known.

"Yes, yes, Gollum," the creature muttered. "Nice hobbitses, very nice, yes, precious!"

"What can we do with him?" Faile said.

Frodo spoke coldly. "We are going to Mordor. Mordor, Smeagol. You know the way there, I believe."

Sam already knew what was in his master's mind, and shook his head. "He'll betray us, Mister Frodo. He can't be trusted. All he cares about is the Ring."

"We will swear," Gollum said, slowly and clearly. "Smeagol will swear on the precious. He will take you to Mordor."

"On the precious?" Frodo said sternly. "Think! One Ring to find them, and in the darkness bind them! The Ring mastered you long ago, Smeagol. It will twist you to its ends. So have a care."

"Yes, yes," Gollum said. "We will guide you to the Black Gate." He seemed humble, now, not like the monster that had attacked them only moments before. Sam himself was stunned at Mister Frodo's hardness, but knew he spoke the truth. He didn't trust Gollum one bit.

Even Faile looked at Frodo. "You are the leader, Frodo, and I will defer. But this...this is madness. Kill this creature, to put it out of its misery."

Frodo shook his head. "We spent too much time in the hills, wandering without a guide. We need one. Besides, he is bound by his promise. He will not break a word spoken by his Precious."

Indeed, Gollum whimpered with promises. Frodo watched for a moment, then got Gollum up. "Guide us to the Black Gate, and I will hold any offenses forgiven. Guide us well, and I may be able to help you. But remember my warning!"

As Sam hitched up his pack, he marveled at the silent threat. He had always thought Frodo kind and wise. Now the wisdom was stronger, the kindness less. He wondered how much it would change before the end.


	14. Chapter 14-The Road to Helm's Deep

Chapter 13- The Road to Helm's Deep

Teslyn was buttoning up her dress the next morning when there was a knock on the door. Curious, the opened it, to see Eowyn. The Aes Sedai was a little surprised, but let her in. It was her palace, after all.

"I have been appointed the steward over the city," she said. Teslyn caught the bitterness in her voice, but did not comment on it. "I cannot ride with you as I wish, but I found some cloths for you. It will be dusty, if nothing else, riding in a company of horses." She held up two, one slightly smaller than the other, but both big enough to wrap around her eyes and mouth if she needed. The smaller was a lighter red, and the larger, a deep blood red.

Teslyn thanked her and took them. Her title was spreading, but she did not complain. The Red Lady was much better than being called a pet, or being treated like one. "There will be some armor at the Keep, I think. We did not have enough time to find you anything."

Teslyn waved a hand dismissively, but Eowyn was insistant. "You may be like Gandalf, but you can still be hurt. Please. You have been our guests."

Teslyn knew about hospitality. She nodded slowly, and Eowyn's face brightened. "I have cloths for Lady Moiraine and the Empress as well," she said. "I should deliver them. Safe travels on your journey."

"And to you as you stay," Teslyn said. She felt sad, and didn't know why. Perhaps it was that Eowyn was put in charge of the defense, rather than riding to battle. Teslyn knew why. She was the king's niece. But she wondered if it was also because she was a woman.

Finishing her dressing quickly, Teslyn put the cloths in the pockets of her dress, neatly folded, and hurried toward the main part of the keep, meeting Moiraine and Thom on the way. Thom had his color-shifting Warder's cloak, and despite his white mustaches, looked positively dangerous. Moiraine, dressed in sky blue, held up her own cloths, the color of the sky at noon, and at sunset, light and dark. Teslyn and Moiraine shared a knowing smile, then arrived at the main hall, which was controlled chaos.

All the others were already there, but Mat was yawning, and Tuon looked like she had not had much sleep. Teslyn stifled a grin. She knew what those two had been doing, and she was pleased. Passing though with everyone else, she saw men holding her horse, already saddled, and mounted with a nod of thanks. All the streets were filled with soldiers, all mounted and ready to ride.

The king was standing by his own horse, deep in conversation with Gandalf. The king nodded and swung into the saddle. The wizard swung over Shadowfax and was immediately out of the gate. Teslyn saw him ride away toward the north, a flash of white in the green grass, then he was gone. She imagined where he was going, to find Eomer and his men.

But now the king was calling. "Come!" He said. "Let us make haste. The traitor Wormtongue will waste no time in telling his dark master all he knows. Let us set the trap that will cut off his head!" There was a cheer, and then he wheeled his horse toward the gate. Teslyn was about halfway back, and proud to be in such a noble company.

181818

Moiraine looked at her sister, some ranks in front. The story of her captivity and escape was famous. Yet she served the Seanchen Empress. She wondered at her own life. Here, she was not so famous. Not as famous as in her own lands, where everyone treated her like a Hero of the Horn.

For that matter, she thought some of the Heroes would be useful. Or maybe not. Theoden's train of horses kept stretching, and stretching, and stretching. She did not even think Tear had so many. And this was just the area around Edoras. She nodded at Thom.

"Sauron is powerful, it is true, but I think this force will give him pause. A charge of horses can do much."

Her Warder smiled back. She could feel him in the back of her mind, and he was worried. "What is it, my love?" She asked.

"These horsemen are mobile. What will they do when trapped behind walls of stone?" Thom frowned. "Archers, yes, they can shoot. But when it comes to hand fighting, with sword and spear? They will fight with courage, but what will be their success?"

One of the riders, just ahead of them, turned to face them, expertly guiding his horse with his knees. "You are forgiven your doubt, strangers," he said. "In truth, I like being behind walls of stone no better than you. But all of us are trained with sword and spear as well as the bow. We will make a brave stand, you will see."

Moiraine felt Thom's worry slipping away. Turning, she looked over the vast green of Rohan. The mountains, close to her left, here stood up in a great, three-horned peak. "The Thryherne," someone said. "Past it is the fortress."

Dark clouds hung over the peak, and she could feel the weather changing. They might fight in rain. Thom looked up at the sky, concerned. She could see it in his eyes. Still, that would hurt their enemies, too, making the ground a morass of mud.

Suddenly the line stopped. Far ahead, she could see the king, questioning someone on foot, his horse beside him. The figure nodded and rode away.

Soon the word came down the line. "That is Erkenbrand. He patrols this area, and is the captain in charge of the fortress. We are growing close."

The line began moving again, this time turning toward the back of the great peak. It was midafternoon, and the shadows were beginning to lengthen. Moiraine wrapped her cloth around her nose and mouth. The turn had kicked up dust, and there was also a glare.

Thom steadied her with a hand on her arm. His color-shifting cloak was wrapped tightly around him, flickering through the colors, and making him look disembodied. He was explaining to the riders next to him about the Warder order, and the bond, his voice amused and serious.

So he was not Lan. He was Thom. Honestly, she liked the weather-beaten gleeman, and truly thought she loved him, with his harp in one hand, sword in the other, always able to find out what they both needed to know. The clouds were growing darker, now, heavy with the promise of rain, and over the peak, she thought she saw lightning.

At its foot was...she thought her eyes were cheating her, but it was not. They had arrived at Helm's Deep. The line started moving faster, filled with the promise of safety. Thom smiled. "It's a good place to make a stand," he said. Moiraine could only agree.

181818

Tam had ridden up front, with the king, and heard the news that Erkenbrand had brought. He was bringing in his scattered men toward the fortress, hoping to have them all in before nightfall. Many had survived the scattered bands of orcs, though there was some injuries. He was glad to see the king restored, as well.

Helm's Deep was strong. A shallow wall, the Deeping Coomb, ran between two cliffs, with a small entrance. The space narrowed, a killing ground that ran up to the fortress itself, about a league away. Inner and outer walls made it strong, and the only approach was a ramp that ran up to doors of banded wood. Further back was the Burg, a tower that loomed over the wall, pierced with arrowslits and small windows.

As they passed up the ramp, Tam wondered if Saruman would, in fact, take the bait. Then he thought of the Forsaken and how they might act, had any remained. No, he thought. They would want to trap the army and take the king as a prize. They always desired power. So would Saruman.

Between the outer and inner wall was a mass of horses. Erkenbrand had a strong compliment of men to hold the fortress. Most of the horses were being taken away now, not needed for fighting in the fortress, back toward the caves where the supplies also were.

The king turned to Tam. "My lord, stay with me in the Burg. You can advise me on the battle."

"Your generals?" Tam said. "I am a stranger here." He felt like the king should have his own men, who knew him and who knew the land. Was it that he was feeling the weakness of Saruman still, that he did not trust his own men?

"But you fought long battles," the king said. "And...well, new eyes may see what I miss. I will refuse no help."

Tam could understand that. "Put the archers on the inner wall," he said. "How far can they shoot?" He was pleased they could shoot almost as far as his Two Rivers bowmen. "Put boiling oil and stones on the outer wall, to drop down on ladders. We must assume that the enemy will have them."

The king snapped his fingers at Erkenbrand, who left to follow his orders. "Keep your best men here. They can defend you if the rest of the Deep falls. Is there a path through the mountains?"

Theoden nodded. "I know you have few men, but there are women and children here. If the fortress is overrun, a few men can escort them through the mountains. Have them moved into the caves, as well. They will be as protected as they can be."

"If I am captured, it will not matter much," the king said sourly, but he cut off at Tam's look. Yes, Theoden was the king, but Tam himself had been the one to bring Rand from the Blood Snow. No women and children should ever be harmed in battle. Theoden caught his look and softened.

"My people have suffered enough under Saruman," the king said slowly. "I will do as you bid. Let us hope we will never have to use them."

Tam hoped not, either. But he had been there at the Breaking of the Fellowship. It was enough to make him wary of traps and deceits. He wished Gandalf were there, to ask more about the fallen wizard.

"What bothers you, my lord?" Theoden said. "We are prepared. What else can be done?"

Tam didn't know. He felt he was missing something, something important. A wizard would not make it easy. Open combat was never the way of those who desired power. Not even Sammael moved his whole force at once. Still, what the king and Gandalf worked out would have to do. There was no more time, and no more men.

181818

Mat stomped up the wall, his eyes narrowed. He was about to have words with the king. He understood the need for men, but to arm the very old and very young was madness. No child should be made to fight. He knew it was Olver who had blown the Horn at the last, but he had hated hearing that story. Now there would be more of the same, children losing their innocence long before their time.

He was stopped by a hand on his arm. "Stay out of my way, Aragorn," he warned.

"Mellon, I heard the order the same as you," Aragorn said. He looked as disgusted as Mat felt. "But our scouts have reported that Saruman has taken the bait. His whole army marches toward the Deep. What would you have the king do?"

"How many?" Mat said, his anger fading. "How many come?" Tuon came up behind him, resting a hand on his arm.

"Ten thousand at least," Aragorn said. Mat felt as though he had been punched. For this world, that was a huge army. It was large, even for the standards of his own world. He swallowed hard, now understanding. They had just over a thousand, and even behind stone walls, they were not good odds. He plucked a Tar Valon mark from his pocket, spinning it in his fingers.

"It's time to toss the dice," he muttered. "Are all the men in place?"

"They are. The king has left it up to us where we will stand," the Ranger said. "Empress, I think Teslyn and Moiraine want you on the inner wall, where you can shoot your balls of fire, but I will defend wherever you go."

Tuon smiled. "I will stand with my sisters," she said. "Let us go find them, Knotai."

Mat smiled back, though his eyes still carried a frown. "I hope the three of you can turn the battle," he said. Aragorn followed, his eyes also carrying his own worries. They soon reached the inner wall, the men evenly spaced, quivers of arrows propped beside them. The light was fading, and the clouds over them looked ready to burst. Mat grimaced. A damp bowstring was not an archer's friend. He hoped the rain would hold off a bit longer.

He could see the men, hundreds of them, peering out into the gloom. Down below, if he strained his eyes, he could see lines of torches. With a sinking feeling, he realized the truth. The enemy had come. Taking his stand, he reached for his own bow. One of the men, looking very much like Eomer, handed him a full quiver. Mat nodded his thanks.

"I see my sisters down at the furthest curve," Tuon said. "I will go consult with them. If I have permission, I will return to stand by you."

Mat watched her go. She was strong, as strong as most men, and he was proud to call her his wife. He noticed something else. She had twice called the other Aes Sedai sisters. Of course it was true that the three women shared a bond no one in this world could possibly understand. Still, he was pleased. He had all along wanted Tuon to feel some kinship with other wielders of the Power. If she saw herself as Aes Sedai, maybe she would also see the damane that way.

He looked back down at the arrows. They were well made, straight and keen, and fit his bow well. Stringing it, he tested the draw. All along the wall, men were doing the same thing. He paused for a minute as he felt his medallion grow cold. So one of the three held the Power. They were most likely linked.

Soon enough, he saw Tuon coming back. "Moiraine wanted us spread out," she said. "More damage can be done that way." She tested her daggers, and the short sword she carried, in preparation for an enemy coming over the wall. Though the Ring was past her reach, she still wore the necklace Galadriel had given her. It caught what little light remained in the gloom. Mat hugged his wife tight.

"Whatever happens tonight, I am glad you are here," he said.

Tuon's smile lit up the night as she gave him a gentle kiss.

181818

Thom was out on the outer wall. He could dimly see Moiraine on the inner wall. He could understand. She would be safer there, and could throw her balls of fire. In his head, he could feel her fierce determination.

He looked around at the conscripts the king had ordered. He was unhappy at the thought as well. The king had offered to house him, but he would not stand aside while men his own age and boys as young as Olver fought a nearly unstoppable enemy.

He looked at the boy next to him. He was shaking with fear, and his helmet was almost too large. Thom knelt down slowly. "What is your name?" He asked the redhead.

"Haleth, son of Hama," the boy said, confirming his suspicions.

"Your father is a brave man," Thom said. "He was not afraid to stand up to Wormtongue. He is a hero to the king. Can you be a hero, Haleth?"

Haleth sniffled a little. "The men say we will not last the night." Thom could see, as well as anyone, the lines of the enemy as they approached. The Gray Fox had seen worse. The chances were bad, but not like they had been in the Tower of Ghenjei. He decided to try a different tack.

"Listen, Haleth, I know you are afraid. It is not wrong to be afraid. But courage means you do your duty. I will stick close to you. You do what I do, and you will see that even an old man still has some tricks." He made his daggers flash into his hands. "Later, I will tell you a story about a magical tower and a heroic rescue."

"You would do that for me, lord?" Haleth asked, eyes brightening. Every child loved a good story, even if it was true.

"I will," Thom said. "But you won't be able to hear it if you don't fight. Now, hold the sword higher. That's right." Haleth held it up. He wasn't shaking anymore. In fact, he had a gleam in his eyes that showed he would one day be like his father. Thom was impressed.

"You think some other children need to hear this?" He asked. Haleth nodded, and they moved along the wall together, telling of great deeds and heroic rescues, to encourage the shaking hearts of the men and boys who had never before held a sword.

As he walked, he had one thought in his head. He wished he had not forgotten his harp up in the Burg, so he could properly perform. He would make the men forget their troubles.

181818

Loial hefted his two axes. He had heard about the Gardeners who served the Empress. Now he was standing next to a queen even more powerful. He looked over at the beautiful lady, wondering what had made him put a long handle on his axe.

He knew, though. It was the destruction of the outer layers of Lorien, the beautiful golden trees that only existed here, out of every world and place. He thought that they would make even the steddings more beautiful, and the great queen had promised that if he went back to his own world, that some saplings would go with him.

Now, though, it was time for battle. The orcs had been massing in the mountains, and were coming down in force. He held his axes tighter, looking out at the burnt rows of trees and the orcs waiting to charge.

"Steady, Loial," Galadriel said. "I don't want someone who loves trees so much to come to harm." Her voice was amused. Amused! It was as though his thoughts were being read. Still, he knew even if it was so, that the queen would use the knowledge wisely.

"It is an honor, your majesty," he said, his deep voice a rumble of anger. "I swore an oath to protect the trees. We Ogier never forget our promises."

"There is power here," Celeborn said from the other side. His clear blue eyes seemed to be looking into another universe. "I feel evil. There is more than what is seen with the eyes."

Most Ogier did not have sensitivity to the Power. In fact, steddings were places where the Power could not be felt. Still, he felt nervous. His ears twitched as he felt...something approach. The Lady held up her right hand, and spoke a command in her own beautiful tongue. Loial had been learning, but he caught only a few words. He felt the air warp, and then something was revealed, a darkness running ahead of the army.

"Very well," Galadriel said. "I will remain here and battle this cloud. Husband, take our forces and the Ogier. You will know if I fall."

"I swore to…" Loial began.

Galadriel smiled. "I know. Loyalty is your name. This, though, is something I must do alone. Protect my husband." She patted his arm, though he towered over her. "Go."

Loial hated it, but it was like serving the Aes Sedai. Elves were running past him, arrows nocked. He ran with them, a snarl twisting his mouth, even as the light of the sun was revealed, shining past him to strike the darkness like a great bell.

"Oh, Light!" He gasped. The light blew through him in a wave of power, refreshing and powerful at once. The enemies did not like it, though, hesitating in fear. The elven warriors cheered, firing even as they ran. Loial was with them, running beside Celeborn, who had drawn a long silver knife. It flickered as the shadow was pushed back, then they were at the enemy.

Loial's axes rose and fell, cleaving armor and flesh alike. He felt his ears go back at the wrongness of the attack. Above him, thunder pealed as light and darkness fought. The darkness roared in anger, pushing back, but there was nothing the enemy could do. The light was far stronger, and Loial rejoiced in it. Soon, they were at the edge of the forest, out among the stumps of fallen mallorns. The light was still growing, and the darkness fell back. Loial could see it retreat toward the mountains. It was Dragon's work, almost, and Loial felt pride in the power of the elves.

Celeborn, leaving the cleanup to his commanders, turned to Loial. "My wife will be weary, Loial. Will you help me to fetch her?"

Loial agreed and loped back. His eyes showed concern. To use that sort of power would take it out of anyone, even the strongest. He saw the queen on the ground, sitting with a circle of elves around her. Loial walked over to see if she was alright, Celeborn behind him.

The queen smiled tiredly. "Did we win?"

"The darkness failed," Celeborn said. "Come, up. Let us get you back."

It was a two day trip back to Caras Galahdon, and Loial watched the queen carefully. She recovered quickly, though the lines under her eyes showed their was still strain. Loial, himself, wanted to be back in the eleven city. He felt far safer among the golden trees than the dark, shadowed mountains.

When they could speak alone, Loial confronted the queen. "You did as you had to," he said slowly. "I understand that. But let me stay by you. In my world, there are Ogier guards around the Seanchen Empress. I would be that for you until this war is won."

He did not know why he would say that. He almost wished he could take it back, but something drew him to speak. "Your light is strong, but all it takes is one arrow."

Celeborn frowned, but Galadriel smiled. "You see the dangers, friend Ogier. Very well. I do not have a bodyguard, and perhaps I should. We will make a cloak and mail for you, my maidens and I."

Loial felt pleased by that. Now he saw why his cousins on the other side of the ocean were so devoted to their queen. Here was one he would follow...though what would Erith say, him being a fighting Ogier? For that matter, what was happening in the lands he knew?

181818

Elayne was there when Rand had told the White Tower about his vision, Nynaeve standing beside him, Lan at his back. "They were taken for a reason," the former Dragon said. "They battle this dark lord."

Cadsuane nodded. "The Creator takes a hand. All the lands have stewards, thank the Light. They can rule until the rightful rulers return. We thank you for your news, Rand, and will work for a way to bring them home."

Just Rand. Not the Dragon. Not anymore. Rand had sealed the Bore, trapping the Dark One, and fulfilled prophecy. Now he watched the land, protecting it from afar, refusing titles. And she loved him for it. He wore a different body, but he would always be the Rand she knew. She could hardly wait to get him alone and let him know how much she loved him.

Logain spoke next. The leader of the Black Tower was a hard man, though his eyes showed curiosity now. "Perhaps we can sit down and discuss what you saw. If we can make a bridge...maybe our Asha'man, or some of the Green sisters, can visit. A little help from us may tip the scales." He nodded respectfully at the Amyrlin. "After all, my men are trained in war."

Cadsuane inclined her head. "An excellent idea. All of you are dismissed. Logain and Rand, stay, please." The sisters filed out, all except for Elayne. Cadsuane looked at her, frowning.

"I am the only maker of ter'angreal I know," the queen said. "Now that my babies are born, I can hold the Power as I always have. Perhaps I can make a device that will span this bridge."

Cadsuane spoke slowly. "Very well. But you are still a queen." Like Elayne didn't know that. "I do not expect you to stay past nightfall." It was not quite a dismissal, and Elayne gripped her skirts hard. Everyone still saw her as a child, and she knew she was not that. Even her own mother said that she would be the greatest queen in a thousand years.

Well. At least she could see how Rand was faring. She worried about him, living alone by the Blight, of all places. It didn't matter if farms were on the slopes of Shayol Ghul itself, that would always be tainted land to her.

They sat in the Amyrlin's study. Alivia, on duty today, poured strong tea, and Cadsuane brought out pen and ink. Rand had a quick mind, and described all that he had seen. Elayne was still amazed. Different races. Spirits, not men, watching over the world. For that matter, a young world, barely in its third Age!

Cadsuane, her pen never wavering, was even able to sketch a map from what Rand had said. Logain looked over it, and at the dark land that Rand had called Mordor. Elayne shivered. And all this war over a ring.

"I know exactly where I would put my men, if we were able to cross over." Logain's deep voice seemed to carry, even in the Amyrlin's study. "I also know that to have the friendship of the other races would be invaluable." His tone held a bit of challenge. He had begun to press for unifying the Black and White Towers. Elayne herself had no objection, but most Aes Sedai were vehement in dismissal, and Cadsuane was of the old school. She would probably never agree, not even that Nynaeve every day healed more men from the madness, and no new cases had been reported.

Cadsuane sighed. "I would like to see this world also. Elayne, would you see what you can do? You have my permission to work with the White and Black towers. Even Rand, if he is agreeable." The hint of a smile quirked at the corner of her mouth. Elayne had tried to keep her romance a secret, but a baby that looked like Rand was hard to hide.

Rand just frowned. There was strain around his mouth, and Elayne could guess what he was thinking- that a new world would carry new dangers. The bond also carried worry, and a hint of anger.

"It is something to do with the World of Dreams, I am sure," Elayne said, as much to reassure herself as him. "Perhaps I can go there tonight, to see if my mind can cross over. I have already made several ter'angreal for this purpose. One more should not be too difficult. I will also consult with the Wise Ones, if they will come."

Now the bond carried anger, the worry submerged underneath what seemed like a red hot poker. Elayne wondered why. She would have to ask him later, if he would tell her. Sometimes, still, he carried secrets.

Later, she did, back at the Royal Palace in Caemlyn, the sheets twined around her and Rand. She had told him how much she loved him, and the conversation had left both of them panting. Now she was preparing to enter Tel'Aran'Rhoid.

"I will know if your thread vanishes," Rand said. "It is not that. If the Pattern needs you, it needs you. No, Elayne, my love. Magic, or what we call the Power, is nearly unknown. If a host of Aes Sedai, or Asha'man, shows up in a new world, what power might they have? The White Tower has not been kind, even here. There?" His voice was a bite. "They need no more lords seeking power. This one is enough."

Now she understood his anger. "I promise you I will say nothing to the White Tower without consulting you first. Yes, I have taken the Oaths, but remember-we Aes Sedai make truth dance." She hoped it would make him smile, and it did.

"I'll watch you as you sleep," Rand said. "I will return to my home tomorrow. Remember, call me if you have need, and I will come."

"Very well," Elayne said. "Now let a woman do her work." As she drifted off, she felt the golden threads of love surrounding her. And then, she crossed over. She knew she was still in her bed, but her mind was in this new world. She decided to take a look around. What she saw made her cry out and gasp awake, pulling back with a suddeness that surprised even her.

"Now I see," she said, burying her head against Rand's chest. "Now I see."


	15. Chapter 15-Battle and Blood

Chapter 14- Battle and Blood

Moiraine waited as the enemy approached. She could see them, siege towers sticking up like rotten teeth. With the Power in her, she could feel the evil approaching, the slick feel of domination at any cost. Not as bad as the Ring, thank the Light, but bad enough.

She raised her hand, forming and holding the weave for a fireball. The off-beat marching of the Uruk-hai came to a stop. The whole plain below the wall swarmed with black shapes, like ants on a piece of food. She could hear the bestial yell, and feel darkness traveling with the army.

Aragorn, partly down the line, gave a command in the Common Speech. "Show them no mercy, for you will receive none!" he yelled. A good command, that. From five hundred quivers, arrows went to the string. Aragorn held up his hand as the bows drew back, then chopped it down.

Moiraine released the Power as well, aiming for the nearest siege tower. The fireball flew, and the distant boom of the Power meeting wood and metal could be heard. She already had the weave for another, and released, even as the archers released another volley.

She could feel Thom's determination, rock hard and steady in her mind, and knew that he felt the same from her. _Hold on, my heart_ , she whispered, even as a third fireball left her fingers. She didn't care if she was left exhausted. It was do or die. A fourth left her fingertips.

More flew from left and right, Tuon's wavering slightly, but still impressive for someone barely in novice training. She could see ladders being raised, and knew that on the outer wall, Thom would soon be giving an account of himself. Still, she had done damage, she and her two sisters. The plain was littered with burning towers.

Still she threw, wanting to destroy the whole enemy army before it could scale the outer wall. If she could have made a gateway for the whole army to move to the back of the enemy lines, she would have, but the battle plans were still well-made. She would not change them, or suggest that they be changed. Theoden knew the land, and Mat truly did have the memory of battle.

The Power was beginning to feel overly sweet, and she knew she was drawing toward her limit. She had to let go. Reluctantly, she released the Source, and felt the other two, as well. She motioned waved for them to come, and they met at her position. Aragorn came as well, by virtue of him having command of the wall.

"Magnificent," he said, eyes shining. "You have destroyed much of Saruman's strength. Can you do more?"

Moiraine shook her head. Tuon looked pale, and even Teslyn looked drawn. "No. Even linked as we were, there is only so much that we could do. We must rest for a short time."

"Very well," he said. "Go up to the Burg, and tell the king how the battle progresses. Then rest with him, if he will allow it. Come back as soon as you are able." Then he was off toward the outer wall, Anduril in his mailed fist.

Theoden met them at the door to the Burg. His eyes glowed. "I saw the fire leaving your hands," he said. "Stay here and rest awhile. You look like you need it."

Moiraine agreed, and was just taking a drink from a waterskin when a sound she hoped never to hear again made the entire Burg shake, and through the bond, she felt Thom's pure shock.

"Mother's milk in a cup!" Teslyn swore. "Dragons? This wizard has dragons? Light preserve us!"

Teslyn had seen the dragons, when Caemlyn was overrun by the Trolloc hordes. Worse, she had seen the effects after they were fired. She peeked her head out the door. Part of the outer wall was simply...gone, and the tiny figures of men were running down toward the gap.

"By all that is holy," Gamling breathed. "Wizard's work?"

"No," Tam said. "A simple matter of learning." Quickly he explained the idea of the dragons and dragon eggs. Theoden tapped his chin thoughtfully.

"Could we make such a thing?" he asked Erkenbrand. "At least so that there can be a better defense in the days to come?"

"I believe so," the commander of the Westfold said. "It will take some time to gather the materials, but a weapon such as this would be invaluable to the defense. Horses could easily drag them, if they were placed on wheels."

"Let us hope there may be time to make them," Tam said. "The outer wall looks as though it is being overrun." The king looked at the wall and sighed.

"They will have to stand a little longer. Aragorn is down there, and so is the rest of your company. Still, perhaps we can do something." He looked at Hama. "I am well protected here. Take what men wish to go and give some support on the outer wall."

"Yes, my Lord," Hama said, and was gone, snapping his fingers to collect men.

Teslyn stood, looking out at the battlements. She could see the battle well from here. The bowmen were still shooting, though it was harder now. The rain was coming down hard, and she knew what that could do to the bow. It was sword work now.

She was interrupted by her reverie by the king's voice. "Are you healers?"

"We are," Teslyn said, turning to face the king. "Our greatest is across the void, but we are capable. Empress, Moiraine?"

They nodded. "Take a little more refreshment," the king said. "Then go to the caves. There is an area for wounded men. Perhaps you cannot use your powers, but I know the men will see your touch and respect you. I would have no opportunity go to waste."

Teslyn smiled. She had wondered, back at the Emyn Muil, why she had taken the herbs Galadriel had given her. She thought it was out of respect for the elven queen, but now she thought she knew better. As she drank a little water, she muttered to herself. "I guess the Pattern weaves here too."

Aragorn was impressed with the 3 female wizards. The enemy towers lay smoking on the ground, and even many of the ladders were gone, but the orcs still swarmed, angry now at the menace they could not see. Aragorn, after sending the three on their way, ran back down to the outer wall to help the defense.

He was met by Gimli. The dwarf's eyes gleamed. "Lad, those friends of yours were well found. We could use more of their work, by Durin's beard!"

"They have done all they can," Aragorn said. He was a good judge of someone's state, and he knew Moiraine was telling the simple truth. "They must rest, but I agree. Especially since the wall has been breached. Lend us your aid!"

"I cannot shape stone with my fingernails," the dwarf said, but he nodded. Slowly, under his direction, the gap was blocked up. The water began to spread into a pool, a bloody reek that the orcs did not easily cross. The defenders had no such hesitation.

Aragorn plunged forward, and saw Tam beside him. The old captain's eyes were grim, but he held his sword in a steady hand, and it swung with the vigor of a much younger man. Aragorn smiled at him, and saw a nod in return as they worked to clear the field. Up on the wall, he could see Mat, a circle of children around him, and Thom further on, his white mustaches bristling with anger, daggers held steady as he killed orc after orc.

Where was Legolas? Oh, there he was, standing in a clear gap, looking out toward the east and the plains where Gandalf was collecting men. Or so he hoped.

The enemy was laid in stacks of carrion, and still they came, a numberless horde. Aragorn, warrior as he was, felt weary. Where was the dawn? Where was the White Rider, who had returned at the turn of the tide? That Perrin and the younger hobbits were safe was a boon to his heart, hidden deep in Fangorn Forest, but what of Sam and Frodo, and the young queen? All his hopes rested on them.

Soon the ground between the inner and outer wall was cleared, but Aragorn knew it could not last. A head appeared in the Burg. King Theoden's. "Fall back!" he said.

Aragorn had no argument with the king. Motioning to those beside him, he began walking slowly backwards, Anduril extended in a mailed hand. He was pleased to see that though the sword was reforged, it still kept its ancient power. The orcs quailed before the steel, buying time for an orderly retreat. The thought flitted across his mind that his authority added to the terror of the blade, then left. No, he was a simple soldier here.

"Come," he said to the dwarf, who had come back beside him. He had heard the boasting earlier between Gimli, Legolas, and Mat, a contest to determine who could kill the most of the enemy. He thought he could fit a razor's edge into the difference of how dangerous each of them was, but Gimli would be overrun if he stood there.

The dwarf nodded and called up to Legolas, who stood on the inner wall now, looking for arrows.

"Thirty!" he said.

"Thirty three!" the elf called back, sounding amused. "It is knife work here!"

Gimli uttered a dwarven curse, and Aragorn dared to smile, even as he hewed the head off a particularly nasty Uruk. Those two would never change.

181818

Mat himself was sitting on forty of the dead, but he too busy with the group of children around him to boast. Light, but this was bad! He had figured that if they would worship him as an outland lord, at least he could give them some discipline. He was going to kill Thom for this, dumping these boys on him and mentioning that Jak o' the Shadows might cheer them up.

Bloody bards! But Thom had been right. They had eaten up the song, and then Mat had formed them into two companies of ten each, one to throw rocks and pitch on the enemy, and another to rest. They had performed well, quickly finding unity. He was proud of them. Rohirrim were tough, and these boys were even now turning into men.

"Come on," he said. The oil had long been spent, and the tar was gone. Still, many of his kids had drawn first blood, and Haleth, son of the king's captain, was proving his worth with a blade, learning in the fire of real battle. Three Uruks had already fallen, and he was looking for a fourth. "The king is right. We can't stay here."

Haleth grunted and bent over. Mat figured he was finally losing his lunch. He did not blame the kid at all. Then he saw the blood. The culprit was laying at his feet, a wickedly barbed arrow. He was about to call for a healer when there was a flash of light. His medallion went cold, and he caught a glimpse of a mostly bald head and Arafellin braids before Haleth was gone.

He thought he knew what had happened and smiled. Finally, they had some help. He would thank Elayne when he got back home. Light, but he would.

181818

Logain had been stern when he had called Jahar Narishma to his study. The young Asha'man considered it an honor. Every man who could channel held Logain in high esteem.

Still, what Logain had told him sounded like a gleeman's tale. There was another man there who had nodded, with black hair and blue eyes that reminded the Arafellin of...but no. It could not be. The Dragon was dead, after winning the final victory over the Shadow.

Logain had handed over the disc, a black spiral of what looked like iron, with a strange, warm touch. "This is a man who will help you cross to this new world. He has...abilities we have not yet seen, the Creator's gift to us. I myself have been to this world. There is war and pain there. I want you to go, and take Asha'man Flinn with you. He can heal, and his gift will be needed. No other Asha'man, Dedicated or Soldier must know of this yet. Do you understand, Asha'man?"

Jahar had nodded, understanding more than his leader had said. He was sure who the strange man was, now, and was glad that his sacrifice had not been final. He had heard rumors as much as anyone else.

"I will find him," was all he said, "and we will prepare."

So it was that the strange man who had the Dragon's eyes had done something, making a shifting in the Pattern that Jahar and Damer augmented with the Power. For a second, there was a rip, showing a chaotic scene of blood and battle, far worse than Dumai's Wells.

"Even my power can hold this open but for a moment," the Dragon said. "I will send someone after you as soon as I am able."

Jahar nodded, drawing his sword, and stepped through, the older Asha'man but a step behind. Then the gate had winked out, almost as fast as it had opened. Jahar was a Borderlander, a warrior from birth, but this was as bad a battle as anything he had ever seen. "There," he said, pointing to some caves in the side of a mountain, behind the fortress built into its face. "I wager that is where the healers will be." He opened a gateway, and Damer stepped through. Letting it wink shut, he turned to the battle. He felt sure he was not to show his full strength, not yet. So, pretending to be a random soldier in the battle, he let go the Power, letting his strength and training serve for him, sword a blur in his hand.

The fortress was well built, a strong design, but Jahar could see it was woefully undermanned, and slowly being overrun. He did not like the look of the foul creatures who were invading, either. Though not as big as Trollocs, they made up for it in numbers and sheer bestiality.

Finding a tall man who looked to be a captain, he watched for a moment to see the flow of the battle, then pushed forward toward the outer wall, where ladders were being raised. Some blasting powder had been used, and much of the outer wall was gone, though a pile of rubble provided some obstacles to the attacking horde.

He looked up and his heart leapt. On the outer wall, Mat stood, black spear in hand. So the M'Hael had not been lying. Of course. Logain would test to see if he could cross over before he let anyone do so. And now he knew where the nobles had gone. Right to the midst of the battle. And Mat had children around him. Children, fighting. Not even the Borderlanders would do such a thing as press children into battle. Light! What type of world was he in?

Well, it couldn't be helped now. He fought with one eye, while keeping another on the Son of Battles. The ladders kept coming, and he shoved, pushed, swung and sliced toward him. Where the others were, he did not know. He would watch who he could.

Suddenly he saw a brute of a soldier raise a long bow, pointing straight at Mat's head. He leapt, sword extended, but too late. The man fired, and the boy Mat was leaning toward fell, clutching his side. Hiding or not, Jahar saw a child, who was injured. He had a good enough lay of the land now, and made a quick hole in space. Immediately, he was there, then making another quick hole, that incidentally dropped an orc into the space in the Pattern, he was at the caves. Leaving him at the entrance, he shifted back and rejoined the fight.

181818

Legolas had sharp eyes. He had seen the man appear and disappear. He would have questions for Mat and his company later- such magic was something he had never before seen. The man reappeared on the wall, his sword a blur. Despite his braids and the bells that he could faintly hear tinkling, he would not want to fight him. He moved with the skill of a trained warrior, and orc after orc fell to his blade.

He himself was hard pressed. He had his knives, but he would want a bow. He spun, his knife going through an Uruk's armor, while with the other hand, he shoved another Uruk over the wall. The crunch as it fell on some of its fellows was satisfying. He too was running toward Lord Mat, hoping to get some of the children to safety. Down below, he could hear Gimli's bellow as he slowly gave ground.

Soon they met in the middle of the wall. The man was there too. His sword was black with blood. His black coat made him look disembodied, and his fair face was hard. His only jewelry was a silver pin in the shape of a dragon, pinned over his left shoulder.

"Lord Mat, I never expected to find you here," the man said. "Peace favor your sword."

"Oh, stop that Borderland nonsense," Mat said, but with a twinkle in his eye. Obviously, the two men had more than a passing acquaintance. The other man grinned back, then ruffled the blond hair of one of the children.

"Do you want me to take these children to safety?" the man asked. "This is no place for them. Though I see they have given a good account of themselves." He sounded proud, but also sad as he looked at their stained daggers and swords.

"I don't think a gateway is what they need right now," Mat said. "I would suggest that you take them back to the Burg. If the king asks about you, say you are a mercenary. I will straighten it all out later."

The other man grinned, making him look very young, and collected the children to him. Slowly, he made his way back toward the keep. As he left, the sense of power left with him. The orcs were swarming back, now, and Mat set his spear.

"I am glad that he took the children. I can fight with more freedom. Though they served well."

"Mellon nin," Legolas said. "That they did. Who was that man? I saw him appear and disappear. It seems you know him. Another wizard?"

"An Asha'man," Mat said. "I would not say I know him well, but we have fought together." He spun to meet the blade of an orc, and handily dispatched them. "I will explain it later, after I am not in danger of being speared like a wild boar."

Legolas saw the sense of that. Besides, he had heard enough about the Asha'man to put two and two together. They were fierce warriors, living weapons that also had the strange magic of Mat's world. He would certainly like to put some of their stories to song!

181818

Damer found himself in front of the caves, behind the Tower. He had been a soldier, fighting in the Queen's Guards, but he had to admit the role that Logain had chosen him for was a good one. He had become a healer among the Asha'man, and had performed his services again during the Last Battle. Now he was on his way to heal once again. Some soldiers were already coming in, giving his black coat and dragon pin strange looks, but he hurried in anyway. Once he touched them, their wonder would turn to joy.

Moiraine was just inside, and her eyes rose to her hair at seeing him. All she said, however, was "it seems the Pattern has provided some help. Do you have the healing touch, Asha'man?"

"I do," Damer said. Some of the women shied back at seeing his black coat, and carefully, he took it off. He figured he would have to stitch and bind as well, and the coat would only get in the way. Moiraine took it and carefully set it on a rock as he rolled up his shirtsleeves.

"We will need all the help I can give," the woman said. She was a living legend, even among the Asha'man. Two Forsaken had died at her hand, and she had been the one to find the Lord Dragon, besides! No one could mistake that short stature or that melodious voice, but her eyes were strained now.

"As hot a battle as I have ever seen," he said, in agreement to the unspoken question. "I believe I saw your work before Jahar brought me here. Any soldier would be proud, Lady Damodred." From the corners of the caves, he saw some eyes widen. "And it would be an honor to serve with you. Do you want me to link?"

Moiraine shook her head. "Two of my sisters are already at work, using what herbs are here. We must rest before we link again. For now, do what you can. There will be soldiers coming in all night, I fear."

Damer nodded. He could understand the exhaustion of linking, and entered further in, half-holding a soldier that had staggered in. He was already holding the Power, and wove for his special type of healing. Carefully, he laid it on the man, and saw his eyes widen. You were supposed to ask permission, he knew, but a wound pouring blood did not leave time to ask.

He had no sooner laid the man down to be tended then Jahar appeared, only for a minute, dropping a boy with pale red hair before disappearing again. It could have been Rand as a child, and he swallowed at seeing the blood pouring from a wound in his side. An arrow, shot with enough force to go clean through. He wove again.

And again, and again. Soldiers continued to come in. When he got tired, the women linked, and when they got tired, he would take his turn. When not holding the Power, he wove bandages and used herbs, drawing on every bit of skill he possessed to bind and tend. He rubbed his eyes, and summoned still more strength. How long would this battle last?

When he had a chance, he grasped a bit of the history, from none other than the Seanchan Empress. She had been in this strange world the longest, and he shuddered at the history she gave. The Ring, too, she spoke of, the magical weapon binding this Dark Lord's power. Damer wondered at it, but he rubbed his eyes again, feeling the strain. He wondered how Jahar was doing. Ring or no Ring, the battle was here.

Suddenly there was a horn, blowing. Tuon's eyes shone. "The Horn of Helm Hammerhand, one of the kings of this realm. You could say he was their Artur Hawkwing."

"Let us hope this power still stands," he said. "We will need it."

No sooner had he spoken than there was a huge cheer, loud enough even to hear through the rocks of the caves, and he felt his heart suddenly lighten. Tuon looked over at him, and he saw she felt it too.

"You worked well, marath'damane," she said. "And I think your work is over." Damer knew how the Seanchan felt about those who were not leashed, and stiffened, especially at her imperious tone. But Tuon was speaking slowly. "I have always been afraid of those like you," she said softly. "But I did not have to compel you to Heal. You freely offered. And your friend freely fights. Perhaps…"

Damer finished the thought. "At least you are considering it, Highness," he said. "For my part, I hold no ill will toward you. It was an honor to serve beside you, and I would do it again." He meant it, too. Obviously, the Empress had been thinking about some things. The small smile he got in return for his words showed that perhaps a healing was possible.

181818

Teslyn had heard the exchange. Her smile was broad. Tuon would be a good Empress someday. She had seen more than her share of change, and was not resisting it, so much as taking her time to make sure she made the right decisions. Of course, she was being wise. Overturning a thousand years of tradition could not happen overnight.

And her own traditions? She was working with a male channeler. She knew full well what the dragon pin meant. And yet, she felt strangely comforted. Maybe it was the grandfatherly way he spoke and acted. Maybe it was the fact that he was a healer, and she had never seen him use the Power as a weapon. He certainly did not seem insane.

She hadn't believed that saidan could be cleansed. How could one man, even the Dragon, challenge the Dark One? But it seemed as though it had indeed been done. If that was true, she could put aside her prejudices and work with the Asha'man. She might not be ready to unite the Towers, but she could at least unite with one of the black coats.

She heard the cheer, too, and realized the battle had, at last, been won. Soon a head appeared at the entrance, framed by the rising sun. Damer's friend. Jahar, she thought it was. The bells tinkled in his braids as he smiled.

"We won," he said. "We had a little help, too, it seems." His smile held the hint of a frown. "Not the help I expected, but welcome even so. I know that more wounded will come in, but you should see this. It will be but a moment, I promise you."

Teslyn rolled her sleeves back down, and washed her hands in the basin of water she had warmed with the Power. Then she came, followed by Tuon and Moiraine. Damer was working with a patient, and merely looked up. His look told him that he would see later.

"I will open the gateway. I know you are weary," Jahar said. Carefully, he checked on the outer wall, then opened the portal, allowing them to step through.

Teslyn looked down and frowned. With the Power in her, she felt Gandalf, his power the sun to her candle. She thought she saw Eomer in the mass of milling horseman, and smiled. So Gandalf had found the missing captain. Between them and the defenders, the invaders were trapped.

But then she saw the oddity. A forest was there where one was not before, the trees waving with anger. The orcs were turning in every direction, looking to escape. There was none.

"You know this world," Jahar said. "Did you expect this?"

"No," Teslyn said. She had stepped into Fangorn, certainly, but even for what Legolas had said, it had not fully registered that the trees might be alive. Now she saw the proof. It staggered her.

"Do not enter the trees," she heard Gandalf say. That did not stop the horsemen from driving the orcs in. The sounds that followed she could never after describe. She simply had the feeling none of those that went in were coming back out. For orcs, she supposed it was a mercy, one they did not deserve.

"Let us go down," she said. "Gandalf is waving to us."

"The man in white?" Jahar asked. "I feel his power, and it is greater than that the Lord Dragon carried. Is he also Asha'man?"

"I suppose he is, though he calls himself a wizard." Still, a Guardian was a good description for him. His mission was to protect this world, after all.

"Then let us go down," the Asha'man said, carefully wiping and sheathing his sword. Quickly forming a weave, he removed the blood from his clothing and body. He had taken a few scratches, though, for being in the thick of battle, he was remarkably unharmed. Teslyn healed him quickly, and allowed him to wash away her weariness. He did the same with the other women, also, to their thanks.

Since the valley floor was crowded, Jahar did not open a gateway. Rather, they walked down the ramp to the valley floor. The destruction of the orcs in the forest was still going on, a crunching that set Teslyn's teeth on edge. She did her best to ignore it, and the piles of dead, as she approached the wizard.

Gandalf's eyes rose when she introduced Jahar. There was a twinkle in his eye. "When I was looking for Eomer, I thought I saw a man, though my eyes may have been playing tricks on me. He was dressed like you, in a black coat, and had the air of a lord. When I looked again, he was gone. The head of your order, perhaps?"

Jahar dipped his head. "Yes, Lord Gandalf. He said he had been to this world, though he did not stay long."

"Just Gandalf, young Asha'man," Gandalf said. "I am merely a guardian like yourself. Perhaps he will return. And here are your other friends." 

Teslyn was relieved that all of them had made it through the battle, though Thom was holding his side, and Mat bore a nasty gash on his forehead. Gimli also sported a wound, though he claimed that it was nothing. Tam, she knew, had stayed with the king, helping direct the battle, but his eyes showed weariness. Even Aragorn, warrior of warriors, walked with a limp. Legolas was the only one that looked unharmed, but she knew of the skill of the elves.

Moiraine made over Thom, and Tuon did the same with Mat. That left Aragorn and Gimli. "Don't pretend it is nothing," she said to the dwarf. "I know the stubborness of your race, but a dwarf can die like any other."

"The cap turned it," he said, pointing to the helmet that was split clean down the middle. "He was a nasty brute, but I got the better of him. Don't be putting any of your magics on me, sorceress." But his eyes twinkled, and Teslyn took no offense as she touched him.

Aragorn was more reserved. He rolled up the leg of his breeches to reveal what looked like a bad break. "There was a troll, and he had a mace. I was not quick enough."

Teslyn remembered Moria with a shudder. "I am surprised the leg is not broken," she said, looking at the purple swelling. It was already inflamed. Drawing on the Power one more time, she touched the area, just enough to bring the swelling down. She could have done more, but Aragorn looked ready to collapse, and she did not want to make him faint.

Eomer came over, helmet under his arm. "Here are the walkers that pursued the orcs," he said. "It seems you found your battle after all."

"Oh, yes," Aragorn said, half-collapsing to the ground. "I seem to remember a contest of kills."

"Forty one," Gimli said, "from Gimli Gloin's son."

"Forty two from Legolas of the Woodland Realm," Legolas said, looking slightly smug.

Mat leaned back, rocking on his feet. "Sixty for me," he said, looking at his spear. "From Matrim Cauthon, Prince of the Ravens." His tone was far too casual, and Gimli made a choking sound. Legolas widened his eyes, a sign of shock for him. Teslyn wondered what the bet was.

"I am impressed," Aragorn said, a tone of mischief in his voice. "I am not part of the competition, but I must say, all of you did well. Still, no one can beat a Ranger. I myself stand at ninety-nine." And he promptly passed out.

Teslyn stifled a laugh. "He just needs to sleep," she said when Eomer made to help him. "Jahar, if we can get him back to the Burg. He probably did not rest all night, and my healing pushed him."

"It seems even a Ranger can stumble," Legolas said, as Jahar and Eomer picked up the body of Aragorn. There was a flash of light, and what sounded like a curse.

Gandalf shook his head. "You said the healing of the Aes Sedai is taxing on the body?"

"Yes," Teslyn said. "It is. All that we touched tonight will need to sleep and eat."

"Then I fear for Theoden's pantry," Gandalf said. There was a twinkle in his eye, and Teslyn had to ask.

"Why, my young Aes Sedai," Gandalf said. "I know exactly how Gimli will refresh himself. If I know the dwarves, the first thing he will want is a barrel of ale. And I don't think Mat will be far behind."

"I will want some wine," Legolas said, as though to emphasize that all men, no matter the species, drank themselves into a stupor after battle.

All Teslyn could do was shake her head. _Men!_ She thought fondly. After all she had seen, she did not think she would be far behind them, Aes Sedai or no.

 **A/N- Yes, I swore I would not bring in Asha'man. I changed my mind. Still, Rand's point is valid- White Tower meddling is to be avoided. Logain might be better, but some who wear the black coats would not necessarily have his code of ethics.**

 **Why didn't I spell out the battle in all its gruesome details? First, I am not that type of writer. Second, "war is hell." I will detail some of the consequences of the battle in the next chapter, but I did not want to write a lot of blood and guts. I will leave your imaginations to fill in the details. Put it this way- Teslyn's revulsion is not exaggerated, and is what I would feel if I was on the battlefield.**

 **I also do not believe that one week is too short for Elayne to develop a ter'angreal to cross over. Since the worlds are related in the Pattern of the Ages, and tel'aran'rhoid is the space between the worlds, it should not be hard to develop such a ter'angreal from one the Tower already possesses. Especially since the Amyrlin has made it a priority (and who can blame her!)**

 **Also, I feel like I am (finally!) getting a handle on the voices of the characters. Tell me, in the comments, if you agree. Mat is the hardest to write- his humor is so elusive. Anyone else had trouble that can help me out?**


	16. Chapter 16-Ashes and Smoke

Chapter 15- Ashes and Smoke

Eomer was surprised when the hole opened in space. He still did not know the name of all of the strangers. Elves and dwarves he knew, and he knew Gandalf was a wizard, but apart from him and Saruman, he did not know more existed.

After setting Aragorn in a safe place where he could rest, Eomer turned to the young man beside him. "I am Eomer, Prince of the Mark, and the king's cousin."

The man bowed, the bells in his braids tinkling. "Jahar Narishma, Lord Eomer. Pleasure to serve, and peace favor your sword." Eomer must have radiated his questions, for Jahar explained. "In the Borderlands, where I was born, there has been war for three thousand years. Peace is a wish to us, though the Lord Dragon made it a reality, praise to the Light."

Eomer understood the blessing now, but Jahar's speech raised more questions. The border? The border of what? And war for so long? Jahar's face may have been young, but he could see the truth of his words. Those eyes were eyes that had seen war, and he had not forgotten the way he had fought.

Jahar was speaking again. "If I had come at the beginning of the battle, I may have served better, my Lord. Unfortunately, it was the Pattern that directed us, my fellow guardian and I. Still, might I serve you by answering your questions? I am sure there are many things you wish to know."

Eomer looked at the field of dead. Having done their work, the trees were moving off, back toward Fangorn. Of the orcs, there was no sign. "Later. We must first bury the dead."

Theoden came riding out then, his guard around him. Eomer bowed, waiting for judgment, but the king lifted his face. Those eyes were clear now, and Eomer realized the one he called father was restored. Tears streaked his eyes.

"I lift your banishment, brother-son," the king said. "My councilor poisoned my mind against you. I am ashamed to say that I listened. For that, I ask your forgiveness."

"I never liked Grima," Eomer said. "Still, I forgive you. He looked fair when he came to court. Even I was blinded in some measure. We will speak no more of it, for I see Saruman's power is broken."

"At Edoras, I will formally restore you," Theoden said. "But in my heart, I am thankful. Your service will not ever be forgotten."

"The dead, my lords?" Jahar said. "Shall I use my powers to help you raise a mound?"

Eomer and Theoden looked at each other. "I saw you fighting from the battlements. You are a warrior of no small skill." The king's voice was grave. "Ought you not to rest?"

"When the field is clear," the young man said. Eomer appreciated his spirit. "Beside that, it is easier to raise a mound if they are in one place. I will rest while it is done, then I will perform these labors. Unless you wish more of me?"

Theoden smiled. It was the first smile that had graced his face since Grima came to court. "If these are Lord Mat's friends, I would have asked for one hundred more." Eomer noticed the frown that flashed over the braided man's face, and then was gone.

"One hundred cannot be sent," he said simply. Still, he seemed...pleased at the compliment. Eomer wondered at that, too, but the questions would have to wait.

"Go rest," the king said. "Your friend, too, that has been healing my soldiers. In fact, everyone who has come from your world should rest. I will you put in my apartments in the Burg. We will eat a light meal at sunset, and ride to Edoras the next day."

"That is not possible," Gandalf said, striding up. "Saruman must be confronted, today with all haste. Have your men raise the mound. I need a witness, and this young man came from his own world to help you. He has seen the battle, and what Saruman has done. All three of the women. Legolas for the elves, and Gimli for the dwarves. Aragorn should come also."

"Most of my men are wounded," Theoden protested. "We do not have the power to challenge Orthanc."

"This is a parley, not a war. Therefore, take a few of your guards. All must witness his evil, and perhaps he can be brought to reason by the weight of all of Middle-Earth." That was when the sad fact of Hama was discovered. He had fallen before the Gate, defending the Burg. Theoden closed his eyes.

"Very well," he said. Eomer shrank back at the look now. His uncle was normally a kindly man, but his expression now was one that promised judgment. Was it the same look when Wormtongue was condemned? Hopefully the traitor's head had been removed.

Teslyn came up, hearing her name. She was soon told what was to take place. "How does this wizard work? What are his powers?" Her voice was concerned. When told his power was in his voice, her face darkened. Eomer saw her look, one far sharper than his uncle's. This promised not vengeance, but death.

"I will weave a ward against Compulsion," she said. "All of us who treat with Saruman should be prepared. He will try and cast a spell on us. If he does, beware." Eomer saw her face tighten, and it was though a light net settled over him. "There. That should be sufficient, though I will make it stronger if needed. Jahar can also help. We can link, if necessary."

"I could not have said it better," Gandalf said.

Their horses were soon ready. Jahar was provided a horse, a black stallion that seemed to reflect his master's mood. Graegwind was frisky, but strong, and Eomer wished the young wizard well of him. They did ride beside each other, and Jahar told the young prince everything he wished to know and more.

Eomer's head was reeling as they made camp that first night. Every answer had led to another question. He learned of the War of Power and the Breaking, Artur Hawkwing, the Seanchan, the Prophecies of the Dragon and how Rand had fulfilled them. He heard of the Aiel, which he compared to the fierce Haradrim far to the south, and of the Sea Folk. He heard of the Forsaken, also. It was not pleasant listening- 13 of the most powerful wizards, male and female, swearing allegience to the Shadow. And he thought one was bad!

And then he learned of the Borderlands and their long struggle against the Blight and the Trolloc hordes. He was staggered at the thought of armies of what sounded like the worst of trolls. But worse were the Myrdraal, the Eyeless, slipping from shadow to shadow to kill and laugh about it.

The king rode also, listening, and asked for the parts of each player. So Eomer learned who was who. "Eru, the Creator, must think we need aid," the king said, though without bitterness. "I am thankful for all you have given."

"Do not let Saruman's words poison your heart," Moiraine said. "You are a great king, ensnared through no fault of your own. It has been the same with us, and more than one. You still rule, and your people follow you."

Theoden nodded, and Eomer was glad of her council. The short woman was a princess, even though she denied the name, and acted like it. He thought she would get along well with his sister.

Soon they came to the fords of Isen and crossed. There they made camp. Eomer was surprised. When he was last here, there were dead bodies. Now, there was a mound, sitting on one side of the river.

"Was this your work?" the king asked Gandalf.

"Not I," Gandalf said. "The work of one of yours?" he asked Jahar.

"Not that I am aware," the young wizard said. "Logain was the only one here, and he did not stay long. Not long enough to do this." Suddenly his tone changed. "You know, don't you?"

Gandalf's eyes twinkled. "Not wizardry, but a power far older. Older even than your Aes Sedai, Teslyn."

Eomer wondered, but made camp. There were howls in the night, but nothing more. Soon they were across the river, and ready to continue on. A mist began to creep in as they continued, and Eomer looked around. Gandalf just kept riding as the road turned stony and paved, a straight way running to the gates of Isengard. A white hand, smeared with blood, pointed the way like a sign of doom.

"I don't like this," Moiraine said, but said no more. Soon they came out into sun, and Eomer gasped. He had been to the gates of Isengard once with Theoden, when they were young, to visit Saruman. It did not look like this. Then he grinned. It was clear the wizard's power was overthrown.

181818

Merry and Pippin had told the story of the Quest to Treebeard, and then left it to Perrin to tell how he had come to Middle-Earth. Treebeard's eyes flickered.

"So the Powers move once more," he said. "Barum, this is a great matter. With the wars of men us Ents do not concern ourselves. But Saruman threatens to burn the woods. Saruman should know better. He does know better! There is no curse in Elvish, Entish or the tongues of men for such treachery. Down with Saruman!" He stood up suddenly, and his beard stuck out like a great brush. The pitcher in the back sent up a jet of red flame.

Perrin bowed his head. The Ent had been gentle to this point, apologizing for his misunderstandings and being patient as they spoke. Now he reminded Perrin of the Green Man, angry at the invasion of his home. "I will stop it!" Treebeard boomed. The walls shook, and Perrin clutched his ears.

There was a pause, and Perrin raised his head. The old ent was standing under the fountain, scattering red drops, counting on his stick-like fingers. His beard was no longer bristling, though his eyes still glowed. He was speaking names.

"There are so few of us left," he said. "So few of us. We have not seen the Entwives in many a year. Yet I think I must call Entmoot."

Perrin could understand about the moot, but not about the entwives. When he asked, the old ent explained. It sounded like a sad story, a story of disinterest and separation. He would have liked to see a tree-child, but what was done, was done.

Merry and Pippin exchanged glances and stifled a yawn. It had been a long day, and even Perrin felt his own weariness. The Ent noticed. "You can sleep on the bed," he said. "I will stand in the rain. Good night!"

As Perrin curled up on the sweet-smeeling heather that passed for a bed, he felt as though he was the closest to nature he had ever been, sleeping in the home of a walking, talking tree. Mat would never believe it. And where was Mat? Had he survived the attack at the river? Were they the only members of the Fellowship left? The only members...his heart clenched. If Faile was gone...if...even with the refreshing sound of the waterfall, sleep was slow in coming, and filled with strange dreams.

The next day showed what the Moot was. Some fifty ents like Treebeard were there. As an axeman, Perrin recognized many of them. Oak, pine, chestnut, ash, holly, willow. But he could tell all were of the same race, for they all had the same green eyes and the same slow speech.

He tried to follow it, but it was more like music than words, and he soon gave up. He contented himself with walking around the deep dell that the Ents were meeting in, and watching the clouds pass across the sky. He had no axe or weapons, and wondered what help he could give if the forest decided to go to war. Still, he felt content. They were safe, even if Treebeard was a little strange for his taste.

That night and the next, they spent time with a young ent who had already made up his mind and had no need to be at council. He was like a rowan in appearance, tall and strong, with an ear for humor and laughter, but a deep sadness at the destruction at Saruman's hands.

Still the voices rose and fell. Even Perrin felt impatient at this point. How long did it take to make a simple decision? Now he understood how Rand and Mat had to feel at his slow ways.

Suddenly, on the afternoon of the third day, the voices died. Perrin felt the tension, like a wire drawn tight and tighter. He fidgeted, and watched the young hobbits do the same. Suddenly there was a sound of thunder, and fifty voices shouting at once.

"We march, we march to war!" the Ents cried. They were steadily coming closer. The young Ent, Quickbeam, walked out to meet them. All of them were there, Treebeard at their head. The old ent's eyes glowed.

"Up on my shoulders, little hobbits! And you can ride in my hands, Perrin."

Perrin was big, and wondered if he might break Treebeard, but the old ent was far stronger than he looked. Even with three passengers, his stride did not slow. They were going downhill now, away from the mountains, and Perrin remembered they would turn west, toward the Wizard's Vale.

"What can Ents do against a wizard?" Merry asked finally.

Perrin chuckled. "One day, I will tell you about the Green Man," he said.

"I thought I heard all your tales," Pippin said. "I don't remember anything about a Green Man."

"I will tell you then," Perrin said. He told about the Eye, and what the Green Man had done. The hobbits were silent after. Even Treebeard stopped humming his marching tune, and the glow in his eyes deepened.

"It could be that we are marching to our last battle, like your friend," he said. "But war would have come, sooner or late. We could not have held it off. As for what we can do, you may have heard of trolls. Well, Trolls are only a mockery of Ents, as the Orcs are a mockery of elves. We are strong. We will tear up his stone and metal before we die."

Perrin was sober. Treebeard was decent, and so were his fellow Ents, but a few hundred wolves would take the sting out of any defense. Perrin was leery, though. They were marching to Isengard, and he had seen Saruman's creatures personally. Wolf against warg...he did not want that.

Treebeard noticed his discomfort and turned his green eyes on him. Slowly, Perrin spoke his own secret. How wolves and trees could coexist he did not know, but the Ent had to know.

Treebeard was silent, longer this time. "It is new," was all he said. "If you could...but wolves do not live in Fangorn. Further north, perhaps, but even then, wolves here are no friends of trees. Or of men. You are right to be wary, young Perrin."

They were approaching one last ridge, and they climbed up slowly. At the top, they looked out over a gulf of blackness, filled with smoke.

"Night falls over Isengard," Treebeard said solemnly.

181818

Legolas watched carefully as they approached the ruined walls. The sense of menace was gone, but anything could be hiding in the mists. The gates were rubble, and on the scaterred stone were three figures. One, large like a blacksmith, was peering into the mists. The other two, the size of children, looked as though they were asleep.

He knew who they were. So did Gimli. His friend's gruff voice was a boom. "We chased you across Rohan, through peril and fire, and we see you sitting...and smoking! Hammer and tongs, I do not know whether to hug you or kill you!"

"You speak for me also," Legolas laughed. "Though I would rather know how they came into wine."

"So this is the meeting of dear friends," the king said. "These, then, are the missing members of your fellowship."

The two hobbits were awake now, and with help from Perrin, clambered down the stone to meet the party. "Merry Brandybuck and Peregrin Took at your service," the two hobbits said.

"I am Perrin, King of Saldaea," the big man said. "We are watching the gate, under authority of Treebeard the Ent, who has taken over management of Isengard."

"Has he?" Gandalf said. Legolas looked around, and saw a huge figure walking toward him. He knew of the Ents and their long sorrow, of course, but never expected to see one. The Onodrim was old, Legolas knew, the oldest living thing in Middle-Earth, and for the first time, Legolas felt young.

"Young Gandalf, stock and stone, root and twig I can manage, but there is a wizard to manage here," the huge tree-shape said.

"Let us go talk to him," Gandalf said. "Probably useless, but it must be attempted."

"Er, King Theoden," Pippin said, "Treebeard has food for your company on the other side of Isengard. The members of our company can go with you, or stay with us."

Theoden nodded his thanks. "Come with us," Gandalf said to the two hobbits. "You are also witnesses."

Legolas could feel the tension as they rode through what remained of the gate. He felt right to be angry. Saruman had hurt all the races of Middle-Earth, and the emissaries of other worlds besides. Even angrier he was at the wanton destruction. Stumps were all that were left of the great groves of Isengard, and ugly machines of wood and metal dotted the watery reek. It looked like a destroyed paradise. It looked like a copy of Mordor.

Still, Orthanc itself stood stall, a grim pillar of black stone rising over the plain. As they approached, it loomed up before him, and he took Teslyn's warning to heart. He was a strong elf, but even the Eldar could be deceived.

Gandalf halted before the doors. "Come out, Saruman!" he said. "We must talk!"

181818

Moiraine was angry as well. She had been angry enough at her uncle's sin. This was worse, a wanton war for the purpose of destruction. And the being in the black tower was the center of it all. She held the Power, and motioned for the others to do the same. Saruman might try Compulsion, but he would have to fight through a shield to do so.

She felt a gentle probing, a feather touch on her shield, and looked up to see a man on the balcony. He looked a little like Gandalf, though he had a sterner expression, and there was still black hair around his lips and ears.

"Who comes to disturb me?" he said. "Gandalf, my old friend, is it you? I know you do not come for counsel here, but I see you have brought king Theoden, thrice-blessed." The words sounded kind, if a little sad, but all at once, the feather touch turned into a hammer. She held on with all her strength, and saw Saruman's eyes tighten. Oh, he didn't like that, did he? She determined that the king would not be bound again, and strengthened the shield. She could feel saidan, too- it had to be the young Asha'man lending his aid.

Saruman spoke again, without oiled words. Moiraine thought that was half the battle. Her experience had taught her that hiding poison in honey did not work.

"King Theoden, it is true that sometimes, wars are caused by forces we do not wish. And I admit I attacked foolishly, wanting to add your lands to my own. But come! Can we have peace? Shall we speak of deep matters?"

Eomer grunted. "My Lord, peace means war, and saving means slaying, that is plain."

"Silence!" Saruman said. "I speak to your king, and not to you. Go where he sends, and be content. But for you, Theoden king, will we have peace, you and I?"

Moiraine looked over to the king. His face was a struggle, but not one of Compulsion. No, he grasped his sword ever so slightly. Others may not have seen it, but she knew he was touching the sword to remind himself of his commitment to justice.

"We will have peace," he said thickly. "We will have peace, when you answer for the burned villages in the Westfold. We will have peace, when you answer for Hama, my faithful bodyguard, who was slain before the gate of the Hornburg. When you hang from a gibbet for the sport of your own crows, we will have peace!"

Inside, Moiraine laughed. So much for Compelling the king once more. Didn't he see that he could not deal piecemeal with one person while others were witness to his words? The wizard was angry now, as though he had realized his own mistake.

"Gibbets and crows!" he snarled. "What is the house of Eorl but brats that roll in the thatch? And these strangers from afar- have they told you what their purpose is?" He paused. "Ah. I thought not. Shall I tell you what they have done in their own world? Shall we speak of Manatheren and Malkier, of their own power at the expense of others?"

Moiraine turned cold at that last. How did he know? The waves against her shields reached a crescendo, as though he was making one final effort to pierce through. "But Gandalf here should know better. He is a guardian. Come, Gandalf, the Gray. Should you meet with such traitors? Come up."

Gandalf laughed, and the illusion was broken. "Ah, Saruman. You should have made your choice in life as a jester. No, I do not think I will come up. Those that escaped by the window should not come in through the door. But do you want to come down? You know much of the enemy's counsel. You can still aid us in healing this Middle-Earth."

Suddenly Moiraine saw Saruman's fear. He was a Forsaken, or one like, but she knew he answered to another. She knew enough of Sauron to know he would not treat failure well. For a minute, the attacks on the shield were gone. For a minute, she could sense the fallen wizard's doubt. She prayed, and hoped.

"No, I will not!" he said, and the mask was in place. The attacks did not continue, almost as though Saruman knew he was at last unmasked. Gandalf sighed, his face grieved with pain. Moiraine sighed. She had hoped, too. "I know your desire. You wish to harm me."

"I wish to help you," Gandalf said. "You can go free. Free. Even to Mordor, if that is your wish. But you will surrender the keys to Orthanc."

"Yes, and you wish for the keys of Barad-Dur itself. And the rods of the five wizards. And the crowns of seven kings. A modest plan, and hardly one in which my help is needed. No! I will stay." He turned to go, and Gandalf threw back his robes, revealing the light he held inside of him.

"I did not give you leave to depart," he said, and now his voice was grim. "Saruman, your staff is broken!" There was a crack, and the white rod Saruman held splintered in pieces. "I cast you out of the Council, and the Order. Now go!" Saruman, shattered, crawled back into his fortress.

"So it is done," Moiraine said as they turned to go. "Did you have any hope?"

"Some," Gandalf said. "It came to a hair. He had to be shown that he has lost all his power, and even then, he thinks...the fool. He will never challenge Sauron now. Soon the Eye will turn to him, and it will not be an Eye of peace." He rubbed his eyes. "He was the greatest of my order. Now…"

Moiraine could see the sadness there, and patted the wizard's arm. So she had felt at the breaking of the White Tower. Betrayal would never sit well with her.

She was interrupted from her thoughts by a crash. Something had been thrown down from a high window, and was now laying in the reek. It was a glass ball, and strange lights were spinning in it. She felt a sense of danger, an oily feeling...and she now knew how Orthanc and the Dark Tower communicated.

Carefully, she dismounted, holding her skirts, and picked up the ball. It was heavy, and quickly, she handed it up to Gandalf. "Do not let anyone else touch this. Somehow, I think...no, I know, that Sauron speaks through this object. I feel as foul touching it as I did when I touched the Ring."

Gandalf's face was grave. "One of the seeing stones," he said. "We will eat, and then we must ride quickly. Orthanc will not be safe to linger in."

181818

Tuon, standing nearby, had overheard the conversation. She now rode up beside Gandalf. He smiled down on her, but his eyes were troubled. "What is it?" he asked.

"I saw that you broke the traitor's power," she said. "But is he safe to leave alone? Should the promise of the king not rather be fulfilled?" She thought of the Towers of Midnight, where traitors suffered the ultimate fate. "I would carry out the penalty myself, for all that he has done."

"The fierce Empress," he said, his eyes losing some of their sadness. "No. He will be guarded. For ten thousand years, the trees of Fangorn will not forget his treachery. There he must stay, in hopes that he will eventually find his cure. For he and I are not as mortal men." He spoke low, pitched for her ears alone.

Tuon had always wondered. Her world had no room for spirits, those created to be immortal, and she had no name to put to what she now knew. Gandalf seemed to understand. "Speak no more of it. If it was known we came from the West, men would fear us and worship us, and we are guardians, no more. Or, we were. Now, I may be the only one."

Tuon nodded slowly. What he said made sense, and he knew those of his own order. Gandalf continued. "We will eat what the hobbits and Perrin have provided, then we must leave."

"If Sauron…" she tried to imagine a Dark One taking physical form. It was hard enough to imagine Gandalf and Saruman being more than human. "If he comes to see what Saruman has done, will not the trees be in danger?"

"It will not be the danger you have seen today. And Sauron will not come directly. He will try and speak through the seeing stone."

"Which we now possess." Tuon's mind was whirling. Such a device, a ter'angreal for speaking over long distances. If the Empire had such a thing...but then, how might it be abused? Suddenly, she did not want to think about it. "Who will it go to?" she asked.

"I will think on that," Gandalf said. "Perhaps even to your people. I believe it will work for whoever possesses it. Or perhaps not. First, though, Sauron must be defeated." She had told him of the 'angreals and how Queen Elayne was creating them. What he seemed to be offering was an opportunity, and she hoped it was true.

Soon they returned to the ruins of the gate. The great tree-shape was still there, standing in the same spot. He moved as they approached.

"Hoom, so many great lords and ladies. And the white wizard is no more?"

"He must remain in his tower," Gandalf said. "You and your fellow ents will see to it." It was not a question. Treebeard nodded.

"Until one hundred times the years he has tormented us have passed, we will not cease to be watchful," Treebeard promised. "Old trees are coming to live here, wild trees. Saruman will sit and rot."

"Tonight there might be trouble," Gandalf said. "I am sorry to take your gatekeepers from you."

"They must go, I suppose," Treebeard said. He smiled, the bark of his face cracking. "But they have made me feel young, as I have not felt for many a year." Tuon looked up. He had approached, and his green eyes twinkled at her. Around her, Mat had an arm. He said no word, but moved on to smile at Moiraine and Teslyn. As he passed, though, Tuon felt something settle over her, a feeling of peace and safety. She knew as long as she lived, she would remember that simple kindness. She was a woman of power, and the trees did not seek to rule, merely to shepherd. But she knew if she ever returned, she would have a warm welcome.

181818

Mat's mind was reeling. An army of trees, and the breaking of what seemed very much like a Forsaken. He had seen the staff crack. That had to mean something. He whispered in Tuon's ear. "You may understand all of this, but I do not."

"Nor do I," Tuon said. She turned to Perrin. "You were with the trees in this battle. Can you explain how you escaped from the orcs? And how you ended here at this tower?"

"It would be my pleasure," the king said. "But first, what news of my wife? Did she make it out from the attack?" His voice quivered. Mat felt his heart clench. Fortunately, he did not have to share the news. Aragorn had come up, and he handed over a letter.

Perrin read it slowly, then again. His face clenched, and he folded the letter tenderly, putting it inside the pocket of his cloak. "Did she?" he asked simply. "Did she leave for Mordor?"

"Yes," Aragorn said. "Our hopes go with her, and with Frodo and Sam. I can think of no better person to guide them there, Perrin." His voice was soft. "She made her choice, and I honored it. She had good reason." Briefly he spoke, low so no one else could hear, of Boromir's failure and redemption. "I believe she saw clearer than all of us what had to be done."

Perrin managed a smile. "She is smart," he said simply. "I would ride after her, but...you are right. If any could make it to the fiery mountain, it would be her." Mat admired his restraint. If Tuon had done such a thing, he would not have let her go, even if he had to walk all the way to Mordor. He knew Perrin would mourn his fiery wife, and long for her, but he was solid as the metal he forged. He would do all that had to be done.

Aragorn also handed over his axe, that had been taken at the Falls. "I believe you want this back. There will be more battles to be fought." Perrin took it gratefully, putting it in the loop at his belt.

"I wanted a weapon last night," he said, seeming to recover his good humor. "But here we are, back at the gate. Let us eat a little, and then we will talk as we ride."

Mat shared his mood. The hobbits had prepared a feast, complete with wine and beer, and he ate gratefully and quickly. He could feel the tension, coming up again, knowing they were in a dangerous neighborhood. Gandalf came by, and he stopped the wizard. "I know we must ride," he said. "But where do we ride to?"

"To Helm's Deep, at first," he said. "We must collect Thom, and collect the Rohirrim that are fit to ride. Then to Edoras, to feast after battle. Then to Dunharrow. It is a deep bay in the mountains, and where the muster of Rohan's armies usually occurs." He took a deep breath. "I believe the Enemy will next strike at Gondor, though we must look in the seeing stone to know."

"Who has the strength?" Mat asked. He felt sure that Saruman had been corrupted through its use, and told the wizard so.

"It is so," Gandalf said simply. "Yet there is one with strength enough, one whose it is by right. And that will made the difference." Who it was, he did not say, quickly moving on. Mat didn't know who it might be, either. Unless there was another, more powerful wizard.

Soon they were riding again, moving back toward Helm's Deep. As they rode, Perrin spoke, telling of his capture and escape and meeting Treebeard, then of the Moot and what had been decided.

"There is a part you do not know," he said. "We arrived at Isengard just after sundown, and crept down into the valley. I thought we would attack at once, but Treebeard stood still. So we saw Saruman's army leave. We could not have stopped them, even if we had wanted to. 'My business is with Isengard tonight,' he said, so we did nothing."

"Suddenly Quickbeam saw Saruman. He is a gentle Ent, but his trees were destroyed by Saruman," Pippin said, from where he rode behind Aragorn. "'The traitor!' he cried. It was clear that he had come to see his army off. Quickbeam chased him into Isengard, while the rest of the Ents began to tear down the walls. There were some orcs left too, to guard the place. I don't think any lasted long."

"No," Perrin said, sounding grimly satisfied. "I heard their cries of terror. But our fun did not last long. As soon as Saruman was safe inside his tower, he began to use his magic. He attacked the ents, specifically. One, that looked like a young beech, got caught in a tower of some flame. It was a terrible sight."

Merry took up the story. "I thought the ents were mad before. I saw who they really were when roused. Rocks began to fall just at their cries of anger. We had to stuff our fingers in our ears."

Perrin turned to Moiraine, who was riding just behind. "Remember when the Green Man attacked Balthamel? Think of that, but fifty times worse. Rocks were being tossed hundred of feet in the air, and wheels and towers were being thrown like straw. Some of the ents were even attacking the tower itself. I think there must be some magic, though. The tower still stands."

Mat drew a deep breath. That much rage...he was glad, in a way, he had not been there.

"Yes, Orthanc was made by the men of the West, and their art is one the Ents cannot defeat." Gandalf spoke slowly. "But there the Tower is, still, and the wizard inside. He will have to stay there."

"Anyway, by the sun began to come up, they had pretty much destroyed the whole circle. Treebeard had gone off somewhere in the hills, and he came back. 'Move up above the rubble,' he said. 'We will release the dams, and the filth of Saruman will be washed away.'"

"And that was how the whole plain was flooded," Mat said, guessing. Perrin frowned.

"It was a tricky thing, too," he said. "The water reached higher than we thought. We thought we would be flooded, ourselves. There was still a stair, though, that the ents had not destroyed. There, above the gate, we found the storeroom for the guards. And there, we provisioned ourselves."

Theoden nodded. "It makes sense now. We have heard of the Ents of Fangorn, though we have never seen one."

"I am still troubled," Aragorn said. "All this talk of the Eye makes me uneasy. That Saruman and Sauron work together is plain. But this...the Uruk Hai. Why did they capture you?" he asked, turning to Perrin.

Mat wondered that as well. The force that Saruman had sent for them at the river could have easily killed all of them. They had singled out the hobbits and Perrin, however, marking them for capture.

"My gift," Perrin said simply, and Mat shuddered. "Or so I presume." Now Mat wished he had fired an arrow at Saruman. It was personal. He did not know Rohan or its king. Certainly, what Saruman had done in Rohan had been vile, but Perrin and he had grown up in the same village. Light! Saruman wanted to use the gift in the same way the Forsaken had made the warped Shadowspawn of their own world!

Moiraine seemed to catch some of the same thoughts. Her mouth twisted in distaste. Aragorn looked between them, and horrified comprehension dawned in his eyes. Merry and Pippin just looked at each other. The king looked confused, and so did Eomer. Mat would tell them later.

When they returned to Helm's Deep, the bodies had been collected, and the forest was gone. The scenes of battle had mostly been cleared away, and Thom was supervising some of the boys in sorting arrows and weapons.

"We will raise the mound before we go on," Gandalf said. "I will give leave for you to do so, young Guardian," he said to Jahar.

"Link with me," Jahar said to the woman, and Mat's medallion went cold. Tuon shivered a little- Mat knew it was the first time she had ever linked with saidin, then her eyes opened in shock. Slowly, the ground began to move, sods and grass beginning to cover the bodies. Soon the mound was complete, and Mat felt the medallion warm again.

Suddenly it was Mat's turn to start. Dimly, as though in his thoughts, he heard a voice singing. It was sweet, but powerful, almost like an Ogier song. The grass began to grow up over the mount, until it was thick and green. As though for good measure, white, tiny flowers began to appear, until the mound was covered thickly with them. It was the symbilmine, the everwhite flowers he had seen on the barrows of the dead Rohirrim.

"Light!" he said, though not as a curse. "What was that?" He knew only one thing it could be. He had seen it in the Blight, after Rand's final victory.

Jahar and Moiraine looked just as shocked. Finally Jahar spoke slowly. "I think there is something you must know." He pointed to Thom, and Damer, who was coming down the ramp, knuckling his back. "Him, too. This concerns all from our world, and I think it is news that will make you very happy."

181818

Across the stars, Rand rested in his cottage. It had been one of the most difficult things he had ever done. Not just to remember the Singing, three thousand years lost, but also to reach across the gulf. Still, he was satisfied.

He had promised to himself that he would not Travel to this new world. There was no need. Logain, however, had told him a little of what he had seen, and Rand wanted to give the people of Rohan a blessing, no matter how small. With his Singing, the flowers on the mound would never die.

He would also watch his friends. Elayne had given him the first ter'angreal she had made for the purpose, feverishly working to make it ready quickly, just soon enough for him to send Jahar and Damer through the portal. He had established a connection in his dreams, also.

He knew he could do more than watch, if he wished. But he also remembered the lesson he had learned at Shayol Ghul, that men must be free to make their own choices. That was why he had insisted only two Asha'man go to the new world, and no more Aes Sedai. More, and there would be a temptation to meddle. That, he would not have. Both Logain and Cadsuane had agreed with the reasoning, in the end, though both had insisted on having a ter'angreal made, so they could watch developments. Rand did not see any need to refuse them. He knew he was still respected enough they would keep to their word.

 **A/N: I wonder how Mat, Perrin et al will take the news that Rand is still alive and active in the world. From what I understand of AMOL, only the women cottoned on to the fact that Rand switched bodies. Until the disaster of vanishing nobles, I imagine Rand would hardly appear, even if he acted "behind the scenes." That will change now, I am certain.**

 **I know, my longest chapter yet. But I wanted to fit Saruman's breaking into one chapter. I will deal with the palantir in the next, and return to poor Faile. After all, the three (four if you count Gollum) making their way toward Mordor are the heart of the Quest!**


	17. Chapter 17- Taking Stock

Faile wished she had dressed better for their journey. At Rivendell, they had been fully equipped, of course. And they had been replenished in Lorien. But...she waved her hand in front of her face, to try and get the smell of swamp out of her nose. A cloth soaked in vinegar would have helped immensely.

Worse, she wished she had prepared better for the journey mentally. She knew she was strong, but she felt unnerved by the lights that were flickering around her.

She tried to block them out by reflecting on the journey since the Emyn Muil. Gollum had kept his word, and guided them off the hills. She had briefly debated with the fallen hobbit over whether to go over the hard roads to the black gate, but Gollum had shaken his head, saying that the roads were always watched, but the swamps were not. Or so she had gathered, between the muttering and growling that seemed to be his native language.

He had been right, she reluctantly admitted. They had seen not even the hint of an orc. But these lights…

"What are they, Frodo?" she asked.

Gollum turned. In the light of the waning moon, his eyes glowed like green embers. It was not an altogether pleasant image. "A great battle, miss," he rasped. "Orcses and elveses and men. A long time ago, when the world was young. Be careful, or you will go down and die, and light a little candle of your own."

The Battle Plain, then, or part of it, where the Last Alliance had held off the forces of Mordor. It had to be. What sorcery made the lights, though, she did not know. Nor did she want to. The sooner they were out of the swamps, the better.

She was in the rear, following carefully, and felt the mists around her shift. It also seemed to grow colder. The mists cleared away, and the night grew brighter. She was glad. So was Frodo, who lifted his eyes up toward the sky. "A bit of moon will be mighty welcome," he said.

Gollum did not seem to like the moon, though. He hunched down and lowered his eyes. Faile felt sorry for him, in a way, though not much. The story that Gandalf had told her made her heart twist- that he had been so corrupted, day by day, and his long stay in the mountains, that starved his eyes of sun and light. Still, the Ring had come to him by murder, and she did not forgive that.

Suddenly she noticed Frodo had shrunk down as well. "What is it?" she asked with concern, seeing him clutch his shoulder. His frightened eyes were answer enough.

She knew the Borderland saying, "The gaze of the Eyeless is fear." She had fought more than one Myrdraal, but now she felt the same sort of terror. The Ringwraiths, then. Spotting a clump of whithered grass, she motioned with her hand. Gollum was the first to hide inside it, but Frodo and Sam were not far behind. "Hold his hands," she whispered to Sam, drawing her short bow from her back.

Sam looked on with admiration as she tested it, finding that the damp had not ruined the string, and drew an arrow. "You can't kill them," he whispered back, as he clutched Frodo's shaking hands.

"No, but I can kill its mount, perhaps. I do not need eyes watching us travel, and it will not like hunting in this." Her whisper was fierce. "Now be quiet!"

Her heart was pounding as she felt the fear increase, and saw a huge black shape approach. She thought of the elven queen, and her bright courage, and some of her fear faded. "Light guide my bow," she muttered, and loosed. The arrow flew true, and the creature swerved away.

"It was not a killing shot," she said as it vanished into the mist. "Keep hiding." Now it was coming back, right above them, huge wings blotting out the moon and stars. A hooded figure looked down, and she tried not to look at its eyes. Light! This was worse than a Myrdraal. But she refused to let her fear consume her, and after hovering for a moment, thhe black shape flew away.

Still she did not let them move from their hiding place. Gollum seemed perfectly content to wait there, as well, even though Frodo, and especially Sam, seemed eager to head on. The Ringwraith passed by once more, high, on some terrible errand west. Still she waited. Finally, when the mists crept back in, she let them go. Or made them go. Gollum was sure they were being hunted, and only Frodo putting a hand on his sword made him move, and he moved like a beaten dog.

She shared his fear. Every step toward Mordor would bring more dangers, but she knew full well that was where the Ring had to be destroyed. At least it could be, if they could get there. She would not show fear. They were not her subjects, and never would be. But she could still be a queen, protecting and leading them as any good authority should.

181818

Sam had always admired Faile. She had no magical abilities or great powers, but she had a fierce spirit. Now his admiration only increased. He could see why Perrin loved her so. He was growing to love her, as well. Or, well, love her in a sense that he would follow her as he would follow no other Man. Perhaps Strider could beat her for courage and strength, but few others.

"Good shot," he said. "That will keep that monster off our trail a little longer."

"Watch Frodo," she said. "I know he grows weary. I will watch our back." Her voice was sharper than he expected, but then it softened. "I am sorry, Sam. I miss my husband."

Sam could understand that. He missed Rosie, back in the Shire. He had never spoken, though everyone seemed to know how he felt, and Merry and Pippin had constantly twitted him about it. Faile smiled.

"I know," she said. "Frodo told me. Just think of the stories you will be able to tell her when you return. And you will return, Sam. Now, put your eyes forward." Sam took a little heart from that. But now his master was stumbling. He turned his face ahead to help him, but a moment too late. He had fallen in the water. Sam wasted no time dragging him out. Frodo's eyes were white all around, and he had an expression of pure terror.

"There are dead faces in the water!" he said.

Gollum looked back. His eyes, glowing with inner light, scared Sam more than a Ringwraith ever could. "Yes, dead faces," he said. Sam didn't like the creature. Family history aside, he stuck too close to Frodo, and his manner was...well, if Sam didn't know any better, he would think the creature was up to something. Yes, he had been helpful, but how long would it be until the murderer came out of him? He fingered the knife at his belt, and Gollum gave him a sharp look. So the suspicion worked both ways.

Gollum went on. "Careful, little masters. Soft and careful we must be, so we do not go down and light little candles of our own. Careful, little mistress." He turned his face back to the path, and Sam breathed a sigh of relief.

He was glad, in a way, that Gollum was their guide. He found paths through the marshes Sam didn't even think he could, and so far, they had made it safely, although they stank up to each other's nostrils with the smell of the swamp. He couldn't even blame Gollum for choosing the marshes. Anyone heavier than Faile would never get out. And he knew the orcs were. It was just…

"I know," Frodo said. "But we need him, Sam. And perhaps, there is a cure even for him. For all we know, having a purpose, a good purpose, could be working on him even now."

Sam didn't think so, but perhaps Mr Frodo was right. Mr Bilbo had overcome the Ring, he knew. Perhaps Gollum, being related to the hobbits, could as well. But one wrong move...he fingered the knife once more.

Turning his face forward, he pressed on, toward the black mountains he knew were their next obstacle. Somewhere in them was a Gate, and there, they would enter the Land of Shadow...or they would not. Stubbornly, he held onto Faile's words. They would return, and then, he wouldn't wait any longer to ask Rosie for her hand.

181818

Perrin was shocked that Faile had run off, though, as Aragorn had explained, it had been a well-thought decision. Still, he missed her terribly. He took out the letter one more time. Carried safely in Aragorn's pocket, it still smelled like her.

Mat looked at him, and he read the sympathy in his face. Perrin was glad that Mat had his Seanchan wife. Thom, too, gave Perrin a look of sympathy. Perrin knew how Thom had rescued Moiraine, then married and bonded her.

"You'll see her again, lad," Thom said. "I did."

Perrin tried not to think about it, and he had questions of his own. "What was it you needed to tell us?" he asked the young Asha'man.

"I need to tell you all that has happened in our own world," Jahar said. Slowly he spoke, and Perrin's mouth dropped open. So did Mat's. No, it couldn't be! He had stood at the funeral pyre himself, seeing Rand's body burn. And that he could watch the Pattern! The evidence was too strong, however.

Perrin turned to Moiraine. "Did you know?" he asked. He did not care if he was Aes Sedai, he would hurt her if she had held back. "Speak!" He had the urge to crack something, and he felt his hand settle on the axe head instinctively.

Thom put a hand on his sword, his face thunderous, but Moiraine put a hand on his arm gently.  
"He has the right," she said softly. "No, Perrin, I did not know. I suspected, yes. But I did not know, not fully, and I did not want to give a fool's hope." Slowly, she spoke of what she had seen in the tent, after the Last Battle was done.

"The Creator gave him his reward," the diminutive Aes Sedai said. "And yet…"

"He is still Rand," Perrin said. "Only death will stop him protecting what he loves." He relaxed, knowing that truly, Rand had returned. Still, he felt hurt. It felt unfair, but he wanted to shake the Aes Sedai and ask why he had never visited! He looked over at Mat. The same anger and hurt was reflected in his eyes.

Moiraine looked between them. "He had his reasons," she said softly. "He will visit when he is ready. Worry about what is now, Perrin. You have given your oath to fight, and so have I." The reminder helped to focus him from his worries over Faile and his hurt at Rand not visiting. So did the sight, as they came over the last hill and saw Edoras, shining in the afternoon sun. Perrin had not yet seen the city, and he blinked against the glare on the gold.

He patted his horse companionably. He reminded him of Stepper, but here he had the name of Ringrold, for his pale coloring, almost a golden color he had seen on few horses. "We are nearly there," he said. "Just a little further, Ringrold."

His horse snorted, almost as though he understood. Apparently, some horses here could understand human speech. Since he was a king, he understood that Theoden would want to give the best he had. He was grateful. It did help him get over the pains he felt.

Gimli tapped him on the knee. "Your friend, the elf, and I have a bet," he said. "Mat won the contest of who we could kill the most at the Deep. But in the matter of drinking...we will see if a Man can outdrink a dwarf. Would you like to join in?"

Mat chortled. "Gimli's just hurt because my spear killed more than his axe," he said.

Perrin smiled, feeling his heart lift. Gimli was good for laughter, the type of laughter that restored the soul. "Perhaps I will," he said. "And then I can tell you about all the pranks Mat pulled. He'll be too drunk to correct me!" He kept riding as the city grew closer, then had a question of his own.

"Grima Wormtongue," he said. "Was he truly the king's councilor, that betrayed him to Saruman?"

"Yes," Aragorn said. "He was."

"We wondered," Perrin said. "It was just after the flooding, when an old man on an old horse came riding up. Treebeard was there. 'I have messages for Saruman from Theoden,' he said. 'I was delayed by wolves.'

'Oh, Master Wormtongue,' Treebeard says, 'I know all I need to know about you. Put all the rats in one trap, Gandalf says, and I mean to.' He sent him through the gate, and told him to deliver his messages. He seemed grimly amused about the whole thing. The shock of seeing Isengard destroyed must have been punishment enough."

"And I don't suppose his welcome was any better," Mat said. He told of Theoden's action when the spell was broken. "I suppose he brought it on himself."

Perrin wondered. Of course he had not seen the king under Compulsion. But he had also been, if only slightly, by Lanfear. Perhaps Grima had had no choice in the matter- and then to see who his master truly was...he felt a little sorry for the man. Not much. He didn't have much sympathy for traitors, but he, at least, could understand how it could be.

181818

Eowyn was happy they were returning. The scouts she had put out around the city showed that they were coming back. Her brother, that she had not seen for so long, not since his exile. The king. Aragorn and his company. Apparently, they had found the hobbits and the missing man, if what her eyes said was true.

She had long been preparing a feast, and the whole hall echoed with the smells of roasting meat and the faint smell of ale. She was happy to bow before her lord. "Theoden," she said.

"Sister-daughter," Theoden said. "It is my joy to see you well. There were no problems?"

Eowyn wanted to complain that she felt stuck in a woman's role, but held her tongue. That was not what the king was requesting. "No," she said. "The White Wizard took your bait. I sent out scouts for several leagues in every direction, and they saw nothing. Not even a burned cot."

The king sighed with relief. "It is well that you saw nothing."

Eowyn craned her eyes. "It seems many men were lost." She noticed many men, some limping, some in pain, and many that she had seen around the city. And Hama...that faithful, loyal gatekeeper. Also gone.

"Not as much as could be," he said, noticing her gaze. "Many are healing at the Deep, thanks to the warriors from other worlds." Most she already knew, but the two men wearing black coats, one thin with long braids, and one stocky, with a soldier's hard look, were unknown to her. When they were introduced, she dipped her head, and they bowed.

"Lady," the older said, echoed by his companion. "We are honored to serve." They looked around the palace with curiosity, but said nothing more. She knew soldiers, and these were soldiers if she had ever seen them, instantly settling into the role of guardians. Inwardly, she sighed, though she had to admit, she preferred a silent, watchful treatment rather than Grima's haunting steps.

Then she caught sight of Aragorn. He was wounded, she could tell by his limp, and she walked over to him, ostensibly to check his condition, but more because she was comforted by his presence. She felt...things around him she didn't know how to name. All she knew was a kingdom in decline, a king bespelled, and a noble that wanted to claim her. There was no room for...love. Not in her heart or life. But she did feel uplifted around him.

"You were hurt," she said. She looked at him closely, wondering what his eyes would show. She saw something there, but it was not what she wished. The look he gave was that of a guardian, an older brother, maybe. Well, there was time. She would make her intentions obvious by giving him the cup of blessing with her own hands.

181818

Theoden was no fool. He saw how his sister-daughter looked at Aragorn. Well, he was a good man, and would make a good match. If he showed interest, he would see what he could do. But now, there was the feast.

He came up to the Ranger. "It was not by my strength that the walls of Helm's Deep were defended, and many of my men saved," he said. "Thanks must go to you and your friends."

Aragorn looked shocked, but it was how he felt. He had done little in the battle, but direct the flow of men, and get his most loyal guard killed. He had sat in his tower, and fussed like an old man.

Aragorn seemed to catch his thoughts. "Hama's death was due to the Orcs of Saruman," he said, in a low, level voice. "And you directed us well. You speak of the strangers? Yes, it is true that they have powers we cannot match. Yet they follow you, in honor and respect. Do not take that from them, Theoden King."

Theoden felt as though he had been slapped. He wanted to respond harshly, yet Aragorn was right. He smiled. "In their company, I will not be ashamed." It was all he could manage.

He looked around. The two black coats were mingling with the other soldiers, while the ladies were talking to Eowyn now, a tight circle. Mat and Tam were off to the side, while the elf and dwarf were checking something on the balcony. Gandalf was nowhere to be found, but he was sure, if he knew the wizard, that he was checking for danger. The hobbits, of course, were mingling, talking to whoever might listen. For that matter, here was Merry.

Right there in the hall, he went down on one knee, drawing his sword. His clear, high voice rang out, loud enough that he turned heads. "My fellow hobbit and I owe thanks to you, King Theoden." he said. "It was by your men we were saved from destruction. I offer you this sword, in payment of this debt."

Theoden was stunned. He looked around at the company, to see if anyone had put him up to it. That was just what he needed- something to make him feel better. But everywhere he turned, he saw other suprised faces. So the hobbit was genuine, and how could he refuse?

Carefully, Theoden took the blade, and tapped it on Merry's shoulder. "Rise, Meriadoc Brandybuck, halfling and Knight of the Mark." He motioned Eowyn over. "My sister-daughter will find you some armor, and then you will sit beside me at the table, and tell tales of your home."

The smile the hobbit gave him warmed him right down to his toes. It was the same look his soldiers had given him when he had first been freed from captivity. Aragorn was right. He was still a king, and he would lead like one.

181818

Aragorn had seen the look Eowyn gave him, a look of longing. He could not answer. Arwen held his heart. He would guard her, defend her, and maybe even show her a little swordplay, if she would allow it. But he could do no more. He would do no more.

As he settled at his seat for the feast, he wondered where the next threat would come. He was well aware of what Gandalf carried- but who would look in that accursed stone of wizardry? Who would dare wrestle with the Dark Lord to find out his will? Not him. He knew his heritage and knew that the stone was his. But he did not have the strength.

He ate, but did not touch the wine and ale, preferring to stay alert. Instead, he drank a little water, and rose. Gandalf also looked troubled. The two Asha'man and the Aes Sedai also looked cautious and wary.

Halfway through, Theoden raised the cup. "Hail the victorious dead!" he said.

"Hail!" the crowd responded. Aragorn did not join them. Yes, the dead had won a mighty victory, but he preferred not to think of war in such a manner. Every life lost by war only added to Arda Marred. It was something the Powers had never intended.

He ate a little more, determined to enjoy himself, if only for the sake of the Rohirrim, who had rightly won the victory. He was just putting the last piece of meat to his mouth when Gandalf motioned to him. Excusing himself, he rose. The Asha'man and the Aes Sedai also rose.

He took them aside to a small room, then knelt. "Aragorn, I wish to present you with the Stone of Orthanc. It is yours by right." Carefully, he held out the wrapped bundle. "Receive, Lord, what is yours." He withdrew, but at the door, he turned. "If you wish to use it, these other wizards have agreed to shield and help you."

Aragorn did not feel prepared, but he needed to wrest the stone to his will. He knew the time was right, for he saw the signs of war, a war that would save all of Middle Earth...or break it. Perhaps he could plant doubt in Sauron's mind.

He turned to Moiraine. "You have also touched the Stone, I believe, and of all here, you have directly faced the darkness of your own world. I would wish that you take the lead in fashioning a shield."

"We will do so," Moiraine said. "Jahar, Tuon, Teslyn, Damer." The other, older Asha'man shook his head.

"I will save my strength if it is needed," he said, withdrawing to a corner of the room. Aragorn nodded, accepting the wisdom. He did not know what would happen, and would not turn down healing if he needed it. Moiraine also nodded, but the others gathered around her. There was a pause, and at once, he felt the shield settle on him, like a blanket he could not see. The blanket grew heavier, but not unbearable. He turned to them. "Protect yourselves, also," he said. "Sauron will want any advantage."

Moiraine nodded again. In a moment, she spoke. "It is done," she said.

Drawing Anduril, he twitched aside the cover, looking full into the Stone. At first, he could see only the flickering lights, then suddenly, the lights went out, and the Eye appeared. Even expecting it, he gasped at the shock of the power beating against him and the blanket that he knew was his protection. It felt like knives. It felt like daggers, then like swords, a hundred at once.

I SEE YOU, Sauron said. I SEE YOU! Aragorn winced, but did not lower the sword. The voice inside his head was cruel, a dagger of fire that wanted to burn his mind to ash. Aragorn fell to his knees, not having the strength to stand, but still held the sword raised.

"O Elbereth, Gilthoniel!" he cried aloud. "O Lady Fair!" At once, the voice withdrew, though the swords continued to try and cut him.

"See me, deceiver!" he said. "See me!" He held the sword high, and suddenly, fire was running down the blade, not the fire of Sauron, but a different fire, a cleansing fire. When it reached his hand, it did not burn, though it was warm. Aragorn knew he could show no surprise, though he determined to thank whoever it was who had performed that trick.

"I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn, of the line of Elendil!" he cried. "And this is Narsil! You know this sword, Sauron! It was the sword that cut you. It has been reforged!" His voice sounded strange in his ears, muted, though he knew Sauron herd him well. "I see you, deceiver!" Now he tried to turn the Stone to his use. The Eye blinked, and for an instant, Aragorn felt a flash of doubt and fear. It was as though he was reading Sauron's thoughts, just for a moment, and was pleased. Then the attacks doubled, and reboubled again, but all Sauron's power was not enough. With a mental wrench that made Aragorn cry in pain, the Eye receded, his power broken.

Instantly, knowing he had only a little strength left, Aragorn looked toward Middle-Earth, to the South and East. He saw the armies of Harad, sailing up the coast, and the troops in Ithilien, waiting to cross the River, numberless orcs that had one purpose- to break the White Tower. He saw the White Tree burning, and the city laid in ruins, unless he came.

Having seen enough, he let go the Stone, covering it with the cloth. He felt arms holding him, and came to himself. He felt as though he had run all the way across Rohan once more. Someone was touching him, a cool current that revived him, and a waterskin was held to his lips.

"Thank you," he said, looking around. The faces that looked back at him were drawn as well. He spoke to give them reassurance.

"Sauron no longer controls the Stone," he said. "I turned it to my will. I had the right, and I had the strength...barely."

Moiraine spoke slowly. "Not since I fought with Lanfear did I feel such a strain. I was sure the shields would fail, but they held true." Her eyes carried a terrible memory. She drank a little, then spoke again. "Did you see Sauron's next attack?"

"Yes," he said. He felt strong enough to push to his knees, then to his feet. "I must speak to Theoden. Tell me, though, who it was that made the sword appear to be on fire?"

"It was I," the young Asha'man said. "I know the sword is not a sword of fire, but I wished to scare the one in the Stone. Let him think that with the Ring, you are more than you are. Let him fear you."

Aragorn smiled, though he did not feel it. "You know?"

"You were half-asleep in the saddle, from the fight at the fortress, but Damer," he indicated the older, "and I spoke to the Lady Moiraine. We found out all we needed to know." He dipped his head.

"We were sent with instructions not to return, even if it was possible, until Sauron is no more. To that I hold." He went to one knee. "For the duration of my time here, I hold you as my liege. You may not wear a crown, but you are a king, and one I will follow."

Damer also knelt, more slowly because of his age, but knelt anyway. "King," he said. "What are your commands?"

Aragorn wanted to shake them, but then slowly, acceptance came. Sauron had shown fear at his face, and wizards from other worlds knelt to him, even if they had their own lords across the void. It was time, time at last to accept his destiny. "I accept your allegiance," he said. "We will have a council of war, and then we will ride to Minas Tirith."

 **A/N- Well, there it is. In canon, Aragorn looks in the Stone at Helm's Deep, but I felt it was better served to have the confrontation at Edoras, where Rohan can immediately respond to what he sees.**

 **Also, his wrestling match with the Dark Lord is never described in detail. I imagine, though, that Moiraine has the right of it. It would be like fighting a Forsaken, or even worse, as they are merely human agents, and Sauron is a powerful spirit. Even just looking in a Stone, or in the Mirror of Galadriel (as Frodo did), would be enough to test the strength of anyone, let alone facing him directly. Even Rand, at full power, would find the Dark Lord to be a challenge that would take every bit of strength he possessed.**

 **On that note, much as I like Tolkien, Merry looking in the Stone seemed to be extraneous and out of character. He may be a somewhat curious and immature hobbit, but he is not a total fool. He would not touch something that Gandalf specifically warned would hurt or even kill him.**

 **Also, it has not been my intention to make Aragorn angst-ridden. He knows who he is, and he knows the time is short. But like many heritages, his is mixed- Isildur actually cut off Sauron's finger, but he was also the one who fell to the corruption of the Ring. We must remember he is not Superman, but has the same background, good and bad, that any other human would.**

 **Next chapter, we will go back to Frodo, and we will meet the Gray Company (Halbarad, yay!) There will be some surprises that I hope you will be pleased with.**


	18. Chapter 18- Marshalling Forces

Frodo tried to breathe, but it was hard. The dry, dusty plain gave little hope of that. A few days previously, they had finally passed the marshes, but Frodo almost wished they were back. The mountains filled his vision, like the loss of all hope, and there were no hiding places on the cracked ground.

"I wish we had water," Faile croaked. She had lost weight on the journey, and her dress, that had once been beautiful, now was stained and torn around the knees. She still held her head high, however. Frodo was impressed. Her loyalty to them had never wavered, even in the middle of the swamps, and her courage had inspired him.

"Don't talk about it!" Sam said. "It just makes it worse." His voice was equally hoarse. Ahead, Gollum turned his head and motioned for them to be quiet. He was flitting from mound to mound, the refuse of Sauron's wars, the final barrier before the Black Gate. They followed mutely.

All of that was bad enough, but the pull of the Ring was worse. The closer it came to Mordor, the heavier it felt. It was hard for him to remember, at times, that the Ring was the same size it always was, and was no heavier. It was hard to remember that Sauron wanted to destroy his mind, and use the Ring to do it. Faile had her husband. Sam had Rosie. He had a piece of land. What did he have to hold on to, here in this wasteland?

He waved his hands for them to stop. He felt so weary. So tired. There was a pit opening up in front of him, and he slid down into it. Even Gollum was looking at him with a concerned expression, but he didn't care. He just wanted to rest.

"I wish there was an Aes Sedai here," he heard Faile say. "We need healing. Hold on, Frodo." There was a pause, and a soft hand was holding him up. Those dark, tilted eyes were looking down into his, filled with concern. "Sam. Can you give me some water?"

Frodo revived a little. He was happy for their concern. "I just needed a little rest and some water." He raised himself up on an elbow, feeling extra strength fill him. They broke out a loaf of lembas. Gollum did not partake, but he stayed silent. They shared water, and by the end, Frodo felt better, physically and emotionally. He felt ready to go on, and slowly, they crept forward, as the sun went down.

181818

Faile was amazed and concerned. Concerned, because Frodo seemed at the end of his strength. But amazed, because he seemed to rally so quickly from his near collapse. Hobbits were truly made of strong stuff. But she knew it could not go on. They had to make an end.

On through the night they walked, and slowly, the poisonous mounds were left behind, and the smoke and dust. Ahead of them, visible even in the night, the mountains rose up. She had seen the Mountains of Dhoom once, and these were so much like. Behind them, the Dark Lord waited. For his doom, she hoped. For his doom, not theirs.

She was suddenly struck by an idea. "I have told you of the Aiel." Frodo and Sam nodded, and Gollum looked up. "This was their cry."

Slowly, she spoke, putting everything she could into her voice. "'Till shade is gone, till water is gone, into the Shadow with teeth bared, screaming defiance with the last breath, to spit in Sightblinder's eye at the last day.' They lived by this saying, and they were strong, strong to live in the desert for generations beyond count. We are like them. Even you, Smeagol." Gollum looked up sharply at that name, but the glow in his eyes faded to sadness and memory. So the former hobbit still lived, even after five hundred years under the Ring's power. Faile was encouraged by that, and patted the thin, lanky hair.

"Why, Lady Faile," Sam said. "Why, look. Look up!" They had kept their heads down for days, feeling their way. Faile lifted her head and caught her breath. High above, the Evening Star had risen. Here in this place of death, there was beauty. She thought of the story she had heard.

"Earendil sailed to the west, to bring back hope for Men and Elves. Because of that, Sauron's master was imprisoned forever, beyond all hope. Soon he will be, too. Take the star as a sign!" She wanted hope for them, but she was also encouraged.

She needed that encouragement, for the next morning revealed a bleak scene. They had come to the Gate itself. Black and grim, it spanned two spurs of rock. It looked almost like a hill than a gate, a hill of iron. They had arrived. And it looked as though they would go no further. That hill was guarded by orcs and huge, chained creatures that looked as though they controlled the opening of the gate. She had no doubt the hills held an even greater force than what she could see.

"Light," she whispered softly. "Light." Frodo was already moving forward, and Faile reached to draw him back.

"No!" she said. She wondered if it was the Ring taking him at last. He was strong, and determined, but she was much taller. "Don't do this." Even Gollum seemed to agree. He pulled on Frodo's other arm.

"Down!" Sam hissed just as the sound of marching feet reached them. Instantly they were behind a rock. Faile peeked up over the top and saw a grim scene. A long line of men in scarlet and gold were marching toward the gate. Their standards were scarlet, as well, and their faces were dark as the Seanchan Empress. The sunlight twinkled on their spears. Horns blared, and she thought it was a challenge.

It was not, as she soon saw. The Gate opened, and the column began to pass in. Frodo stirred as though to run down the hill once more, but Faile was having none of it. "Even if your elven cloak could disguise you, it would not for long. You would be caught."

"I must," Frodo said. "I must fulfill this errand."

It seemed hard to think, but dimly, she thought of another name. "Minas Morgul," she said. "What chance there?" Her eyes turned to Gollum, and this time, she let a little of the queen show in her expression. She would have no lies.

Gollum cowered under her gaze. "There is a stair, good mistress. A stair off of the main pass. And there is another stair, and then a...tunnel, gollum, gollum."

His eyes brightened, and Faile knew he was hiding something. "What is in the tunnel?" she demanded. Gollum refused to speak, muttering to himself, but Faile determined to have the truth. She drew her sword. "Speak!"

"Gollum doesn't know," he whispered. He still whispered, muttering, and now Frodo was rising, Sting in his hand. His face was as angry as Faile felt. It was unusual for the peace-loving hobbit, and Faile knew Gollum was exposed at last. Sam had his fists up.

"You will speak," Frodo said. "I do not want to hurt you, but you will speak. What is in the tunnel?"

"A monster," Gollum finally said. He was weeping. "We took that way out of the Black Land. It…" his face showed a terrible memory, and Faile wondered what could scare him so bad. "But you must try it, gollum. There is no other way into the Black Land, oh no."

Faile gathered the two hobbits to her, leaving Gollum weeping on the ground. The enemy soldiers had passed in, and the Gate was closing.

"Do we trust him?" she asked. "He would have left us to the monster, had we not pressed for the truth. Do we trust to this other way?"

"Begging your pardon, Miss Faile, but I say no!" Sam said, not bothering to moderate his voice. "Right back the ruined city, where the Ringwraiths live." His eyes showed he did not believe in the hidden way. Faile doubted, also, but she would follow Frodo. It was his mission, not hers.

"Maybe," Frodo said. "Perhaps we can sneak past the Ringwraiths, if we are lucky. We have to try it. You were right, Faile. We cannot pass the Gate. We must trust him a little longer. At the very least, we will walk through Ithilien. There is a forest, and we will have more covering than this cursed ground." He voice cracked.

It was that which convinced Faile. A forest meant water. They would die without it. She nodded. "But we will watch him. Any sign of treachery, and I will kill him myself." She was still angry, angry at the thought she had to use a traitor to stop this war and destroy Sauron. Angry at the fact he planned to betray them after promising not to. Now she was watchful, and ready to kill if needed.

She went over to Gollum. "Get up!" she said. "We have decided to trust you. But betray us, and this steel will find your heart." She showed the blade for emphasis. Gollum looked up at her eyes, and the light went out. Slowly, he shuffled off south, toward the mountains and the pass to the ruined city. Collecting their gear, they followed.

181818

Mat hurried into the council chamber, tucking in his shirt as he did so, and looked to see everyone else there. The king and Eomer, as the heir, representing the Mark. Gimli for the dwarves, and Legolas for the elves. Aragorn was there. Tam was not. He and Eowyn had gone off with the hobbits for some sword training. Teslyn was there, as was Tuon, at his insistence. So was Moiraine, but not Thom. He had heard rumors he was composing, creating the epic of the Ring, but he knew Moiraine would be safe enough here. Perrin was also seated, hands across his massive chest. Damer was gone, checking on some of the wounded, but Jahar was there, bells tinkling as he moved. Gandalf, of course, was there.

Gandalf's face was grave. "Aragorn," was all he said. The Ranger still looked weary, but the gray was out of his face. He rose.

"My Lords, my Ladies, I have looked in the Stone of Orthanc."

"You looked in that accursed stone of wizardry, and were not consumed?" Gimli said, his pipe nearly dropping out of his mouth. Mat was no less astonished.

"I had the right," Aragorn said sternly, and the dwarf fell silent. "And I had the strength. I have wrenched the Stone to my will. Sauron did not expect that, nor did he like seeing that the line of Elendil remains. I showed him Anduril." He winked at Jahar, and the Asha'man smiled. "And I caught some of his mind. He is not so powerful he is beyond fear. We can use that. We can press him."

Mat spoke. "You want to attack Mordor?" He was shocked. He did not take Aragorn for a total fool. "I do not think even the Band could do so, and horses in the passes…" he shook his head. It would be a massacre.

Aragorn shook his head. "No," he said, and Mat breathed a sigh of relief. "I do not promote an attack on Mordor. But his forces are not yet complete. My friends, Gondor faces an army. There the stroke will fall. See, if we were arrive before the army, the city would not be in peril. It is there we can make a stand."

"You want a gateway," Teslyn said. "That we can do, but it will not be large. Several horses at a time, perhaps." Mat knew she could make one that large, and with Jahar's help, it might be larger. But it would not be the great gateways he had seen at the Last Battle.

"It is still an advantage we should use," Mat said slowly, thinking of the advantages it might bring. He turned to the king. "Gondor calls for aid. Will you answer? Will you fulfill the ancient alliance?"

Theoden paused, stroking his beard. "Yes," he said at last. "Yes!" He stood from his throne. "Eomer, muster the Rohirrim. North, south, east and west send scouts. Every able bodied rider should meet at Dunharrow three days hence."

Eomer bowed. "As my lord commands," he said. He disappeared, and in moments, Mat could hear a great bell tolling, and the clatter of weapons.

"Let me see a map of Gondor," Mat said. Soon one was spread on the table. "From where do you think the army will come?"

"There is a force of ships coming from Umbar," Aragorn said, pointing to the south of the map. "And there is a force of orcs that will attempt a crossing at Osgiliath." He pointed to the ruined city. "Cair Andros might also be defended." The island was weighted down with a stone.

Mat nodded, already thinking. "Three forces, then, to stiffen those already there. Osgiliath will be the main attack, I would think. It is a symbol of Gondor, one the nation seeks to rebuild, and the easiest way to Minas Tirith. Most of the Rohirrim should be there. If we rid the coast of ships…" he pointed to Pelargir. "Would those in the south march to the capital to defend it?"

Aragorn nodded, but Theoden frowned. "I know little of ships," he said.

"I do," Teslyn said. "So does the Empress, I believe. Their Empire relies on the trading that comes from ships."

Tuon nodded. "Yes. The two of us can lend our aid there."

Mat nodded, glad for their help. "As for the island, we can leave a small force there. It is a gate into Gondor from the East and should be protected."

"I will take that," Jahar said. "If the king wishes."

"I do," Theoden said. "Each one of your company is worth one hundred knights. I do not doubt that Gondor, and its city, will be protected." He smiled and turned to Gandalf. "Do you disagree with anything said here, dearest of counselors?"

Gandalf smiled. "I do not," he said. "Someone, though, must tell the Steward. That will be my task. My welcome was cold when last I was at the White City, though perhaps with the threat of war, I will be better received. King, I would ask for Shadowfax. He was only loaned, if loan it can be called. Here, however, I pit White against Black. For we must not forget Sauron's deadliest weapon."

"The Nazgul," Mat breathed. The cold he had felt, that night at the River, he never wanted to feel again. "Fighting them will be far from easy."

Theoden waved a hand. "The gift is given," he said. "As for the Dwimmerlaik, what is your plan? I visited Gondor as a boy, and if they attack in all three places, you cannot defend them all. From Cair Andros to Pelargir is one hundred leagues."

"I will give help to the defenders," Gandalf said. Mat wondered what he meant. He was a powerful wizard, but the king had a point. "Aragorn has a task also. He has a different road." Now he was truly curious.

"Very well," the King of the Mark said. "Gamling knows Cair Andros. It is there I will put him. Eomer can go with Teslyn and the Empress to the coast. And I will lead the rest of the men to Osgiliath. So will the forces be divided. I will speak with my captains, while you speak to your company. We will meet again at the evening meal."

Gandalf nodded. "We will go to the wall," he said. Mat followed the wizard out.

"Tuon, you have your jewels," he said. "They will be defense for you, if you are challenged by the Nazgul. Moiraine, if you go with them, your ring will also help."

"As for you, young Jahar," Gandalf said, sliding something off his hand, "I give you the Ring of Fire." It was a simple gold band, with the setting of a deep red ruby. "I know, of all of you, you are the most powerful, and you must be, lest this ring destroy you."

Jahar bowed as he accepted the ring. "I will hold it safe," he said. "What will it do?"

"It will inspire courage," the wizard said. Mat was shocked. It was one of the Elven Rings, second only to the One Ring in power! He understood that Gandalf was giving up his most prized possession, for someone he hardly knew. He knew he would not give his medallion to a stranger, ever. Even Elayne had waited for him to make up his mind. Again, he wondered if the wizard was more than he seemed. Even an Aes Sedai would not know, on first meeting, all Jahar had done, and that Rand had trusted him with Callandor itself. Or that he nearly matched Logain for power.

"I myself with be stationed at Osgiliath," Gandalf said. "Once I speak to the Steward, I will join Theoden there. Aragorn, you must seek out the Paths of the Dead." Aragorn turned pale. Mat's breath seemed stolen away. He knew of the dead, those souls claimed by the Dark One, and worse, he knew of the other paths. His empty socket throbbed with phantom pain, just remembering his terrifying journey to the realm of the Finns. They were no friends of man. "Ride with the King, and then turn aside at Dunharrow."

"What are these paths?" Mat demanded. If he could keep Aragorn from riding, he would. Though, perhaps it was necessary, as it was for him to rescue Moiraine. Still, he kept the edge in his voice, ready to challenge if necessary.

"Near Dunharrow is the Dimholt, the haunted mountain," Gandalf said slowly. "There was a nation of men there once, strong and proud. They were allied with Isildur, and vowed to serve him in the Last Alliance. But they betrayed him, refusing to ride at his call. In anger, he cursed them to be...ghosts, I believe you would call them. They still live inside the mountain."

Aragorn spoke, even more slowly. "If one with Isildur's blood were to enter the mountain, he could call them to their allegience. They would come, if he could prove his claim. If not…" he left the words unfinished, but the grim set of his shoulders said enough. He still doubted. "Many have tried, and failed."

"You have proven your claim already," Perrin said, just as Mat opened his mouth. Normally, Perrin was quiet, but his voice held an edge as he spoke. "You hold the sword of kings. You led us wisely, as a king should. And your line was established by Elrond himself. No, Aragorn. The time for doubt is past. You must bring these ghosts, and put the curse to an end."

He took a deep breath. "I too was like you. Until the Last Battle, I doubted that I could truly be what the Pattern demanded. In every way, I tried to avoid my destiny. It was my wife that convinced me I was a lord. It was her capture that…" he rubbed his eyes. "It does not matter. What matters is that you, like me, must accept. You will not be complete until you do." It was the longest speech Mat had ever heard him make, and he looked abashed he had said so much. But those golden eyes glowed fierce. He had meant every word he said.

"Me, too," Mat whispered, so low that he didn't think anyone could hear. "Me, too. Rand was quickest to accept, I think. But then, he had to."

"If Elrond were here, he could speak no better," Gandalf said with a smile. "Put off the Ranger. Be who you were born to be."

Aragorn sighed, but his eyes showed he accepted. Such humility! Mat had never seen it in a ruler. He would indeed be a good king. "Very well. I will take the Dimholt Road. Will the elf and dwarf join me?"

"I will," Legolas said. Gimli's gruff voice echoed his agreement.

"I also," Perrin said. "I have no fear of the dead. Speaking with wolves has taught me that." He eyes glowed again, only for a second. Mat sighed. But Perrin was right. As for him, his place was with Gondor.

"Then it is agreed," Gandalf said. "Let us rest tonight, since the decisions have been made. Tomorrow, we will ride."

181818

Legolas wondered if Mat would want to join in the drinking games, or whether his wife would let him. She pinched his ear when he suggested it, making him twist, but she let him go. "I will not use the One Power to heal your head," she said sternly.

"Then I will ask Teslyn," he said cheekily. "I did give my word. Shouldn't I always keep my promises?" He made a bow to Tuon, but it looked like he was laughing! Legolas wondered, once more, at the ways of married life. Faile was fierce, a woman with a dragon's heart. Tuon was no less fierce, but her fierceness was different. She looked now like Galadriel when he had been young, and had gotten into some mischief with Elrond's sons. He still felt the sting of the switch, and absently rubbed at his backside. Mat was not affected by his warning look, but trotted over to the table.

Perrin was already there, as well as the dwarf. Eomer was judging, arms folded over his chest, looking at the four piles of mugs. "No spills," he said. "And no regurgitation."

Legolas knew it would be easy. The wine of Mirkwood was not for mortal men. He had drunk far stronger than the water that Men called beer. Still, dwarves were rumored to have potent liquors of their own. And who knew what the strangers had drunk?

"Maybe I will tell you about oosqui," Mat said as he downed his first mug. "The Aiel make it, and it is stronger than double-distilled brandy."

"I had some myself," Perrin said dryly. Very dryly. "Still, Mat, Master Al'Vere's brandy is not bad, either." He put down the mug and picked up the next. Legolas was already on his third, but the dwarf was not far behind. "Maybe I should tell about the time you got into it when you were a lad. I thought Marin would chase you out of Emond's field with a broom. You could hardly stand for days."

"Well," Mat said, eyes twinkling, "Perhaps I should mention the time when you put itch-oak in Egwene's dress." Perrin turned red, and quickly picked up his next mug.

"That was because you put me up to it," he said. "And then you put me forward. Everyone knew you had instigated it, but no one could prove it. Egwene was in a temper. She couldn't sit down for a week! And Nynaeve...I thought she would chase both of us to the Mountains of Mist."

Boys! "Perhaps I should tell you about the time I put some of Mirkwood's best in a batch of lembas," Legolas said, slurring his words slightly. He was still fully in control, though if Men thought he could not hold his liquor, so much the better.

Perrin gave him a flat look. "I doubt Galadriel liked that," he said.

"Indeed she did not," Legolas said. "But I never got in trouble."

"No?" Mat said. "I wish I had known you when I was younger."

"You would not," Legolas said. "The twins always had the reputation for pranks. I always knew who to blame!" That got a roar of laughter from Mat, and a polite chuckle from Perrin.

"Ai," Gimli said. "That is nothing. One time, I hid Balin's war hammer beside the tomb of Thorin. No one knew where it might be. I thought he would tear the whole Lonely Mountain apart, searching for it. It was the first prank I ever performed, and the last."

Legolas whistled. He could imagine. Dwarves held their weapons with higher respect than gold. The men stared blankly, until Legolas explained. "I don't think Balin stopped with a switch," he said meaningfully.

"No," Gimli said. "I had to hide in the woods for a weak, until his temper calmed and I did not feel in danger. I learned then that a good weapon is a dwarf's best friend. Gloin warned me not to do that again. You see-" but whatever he was going to say did not make it out of his mouth. He toppled backwards. Legolas counted the glasses. He had made it to twenty.

Mat was looking a little unsteady, but Perrin still looked stone cold sober. He had drunk twenty one. Maybe with the wolf inside of him, he could not get drunk. Legolas had a brief moment of panic. Those who lost would have to eat a bowl of Eowyn's stew in front of the Lady herself.

"I suppose nothing I did could compare to that," Mat slurred, raising his twenty fourth mug. "Except the time when I played Maiden's…" That was as far as he got. The beer spilled on the table as his head went forward with a thump. Legolas truly wondered what he was about to say, even as Eomer slung him over his back and carried him toward his rooms.

Now Legolas faced Perrin. No, he was drunk, he saw, just hiding it well. His hands were steady, but his eyes were glazed. He looked determined. He raised his twenty sixth mug...and fell backwards into Aragorn's arms.

"Ai," Aragorn grunted. "He is heavy like a blacksmith. He was a blacksmith, I suppose. Tam, help me." Tam shook his head, but picked up his feet. Together, the two men walked toward the room set aside for him. As Legolas rose, feeling slightly unsteady himself, he heard Tam mutter about some people never changing. From the way Mat had acted in front of his wife, the elf knew exactly who was being referred to.

Still, Legolas had seen how he had laid out the battle plan, with no more thought than getting dressed in the morning. Drunk or not, he did not think he would want to face him in battle. The women were dangerous, true, but perhaps it was true that Mat was the most dangerous of all.

181818

The next morning, Perrin found himself beside Aragorn. Teslyn had healed him, with more gentleness than he had expected, leaving only a twinge of pain that soon passed. He supposed he deserved it. Fool, to get involved in a drinking game like a common soldier. Double fool! Faile would have boxed his ears, then assured he would not sit steady on his horse for a week.

Aragorn, of course, had not drunk at all. The weather-beaten man already looked like a king. Though he still looked rough, and still wore the elven cloak, his eyes were clear, and his bearing straight. The jewel from Arwen hung around his neck, giving him a regal appearance. On his finger, he wore a ring that had an air of history about it.

When Perrin asked, Aragorn spoke slowly. "This is the Ring of Barahir, the oldest device in Middle-Earth. It comes to me by way of Elrond, who kept it when the First Age ended."

Perrin calculated and gasped. "Seven thousand years, or close," he said at last. "Barahir was Beren's father, yes?"

"Yes," Aragorn said. "And Beren…"

"Yes," Perrin said. He thought. He had spoken hastily, and wanted to apologize. "I am sorry for what I said earlier," he said. "I spoke in haste, and should not have embarassed you."

"You spoke rightly," Aragorn said. "It is my fear I will be like Isildur."

"Yet when you had the Ring in your hand, you let it go," Perrin said. "That shows your character, your highness. Do not doubt yourself any longer."

"Did you ever fear the wolf inside you?" Aragorn asked.

Perrin would be honest before the one who had been honest with him. "Yes," he said. "It was my chief fear. That the wolf would consume me. There was another man, named Noam. He chose the wolf. But...my guides helped me. They helped me accept, and I found the strength to remain a man." He told of the axe and hammer and the times he had been tested, the times Young Bull wanted to take over. "I found balance."

Aragorn looked about to speak when the soldiers in front motioned for them to stop. Perrin could hear the king's challenge.

"We seek Arathorn son of Aragorn," came the voice, weathered like that of Aragorn himself. "We were told he is in this land."

"And you have found him," Aragorn said. He must have known the voice, because he pushed toward the front of the line. Perrin followed. He was too aware of pretty words. But the newcomers did not look dangerous. There were about fifty, all looking like Aragorn himself, and two he recognized as Elrond's twin sons. All of them smelled of rock-hard determination and pride. No pranks here, not today.

"Halbarad," Aragorn said, getting off his horse to embrace the man. "Of all surprises, this is the most blessed! And you brought some of our kinsmen from the North."

"Fifty were all we could gather," Halbarad said. "We came in haste, knowing the time was short."

"We come with council from our father," one of the twins said. Perrin could never tell them apart, but he thought it sounded like Elrohir. He was the older, and more serious. "We bid you take a different road, and we were bidden to give you this." Perrin saw him bring a roll of black cloth from his saddebags.

"I have heard the same council from Gandalf, and have accepted it," Aragorn said. "And I know what it is you carry. Hide it a little longer."

Perrin guessed, from the color, what it had to be. He had seen paintings in Rivendell. This was the standard of Elendil, and it carried the same meaning, or close, as the Dragon Banner had in his own world. He turned to Aragorn, but the older man did not look upset at the question he knew Perrin would ask.

"I will not raise my standard until Sauron is defeated," he said. "Then it will fly from the walls of Minis Tirith. I will not have division while we have battle."

Perrin nodded slowly, not liking it, but understanding. Aragorn was different than Rand, more humble with the experience of years. He saw the longer picture, and knew the Steward would see that flag as a challenge. It was better, indeed, especially if he woke up to find Rohan's cavalry on the field of battle. It was like Saldaea and Andor, he supposed. They were allied, but he would not like it if Queen's Guards appeared in Maradon, and Elayne would have questions if the reverse was true.

Tam, riding just behind, seemed to grasp the picture quicker than Perrin. "It would be unwise indeed, your majesty," he said. "But these men...let us take them into our company."

Theoden indeed seemed pleased. "If these men are like you, Lord Aragorn, fifty such knights would be a treasure that cannot be counted in words." So they rode on. The column grew longer as they rode, men joining from their farms and vilages among the mountains. The muster had begun.

"How many do you think will come?" Perrin asked Theoden as they turned toward the mountains and the hidden threat of the Dwimmerburg. He was no general, as Mat, but he knew a charge of horses could break almost any force thrown against it.

"Ten thousands I hope for," Theoden said. "Even with the battle at the Hornburg, there should be that many. More would be better, but we are a scattered people, and time is short. In three days, we will travel to Mundburg and the threat of Sauron. I have given my word and will not break it."

Perrin nodded. Ten thousand was a large force, certainly, for this Age, but he knew Sauron would have far more. Well, they had faced the same odds at Dumai's Wells. Light! He still dreamed about that battle, sometimes. Still, they would do what had to be done.

181818

Further back, Moiraine rode, Thom beside her. The gnarled gleeman was muttering to himself, and she could feel his curiosity and wonder. Finally he spoke. "The elves…" he shook himself. "Well, I have been reading some of their tales. The language is not difficult, and it would be easy to cast into High Chant, but...some of their battles make those of the Trolloc Wars look small. And yet some of them are still alive. It is still hard to believe."

Moiraine snorted. She felt the same, though she would never admit it. "If you are done wondering," she said, more sharply than she intended, "perhaps you can help Gandalf. You are not called the Gray Fox for nothing. This Steward seems like he will give up power to no one, not even the rightful heir." She knew Aragorn was, sword notwithstanding. She knew she would be separated from Thom by fifty leagues or more, but she had already made her choice.

Thom looked shocked. "Moiraine, no. These pirates sound like the Seanchan and the Aiel rolled into one, with the honor of a Myrdraal besides." His tone was tender, that of a worried husband, and she felt his emotions through the bond. "It will be worse than Tanchico, and Nynaeve herself barely survived. Light, you heard what Aragorn said as well as I!"

"I have made my decision," Moiraine said. She would not force the bond, but she made her voice stern. "You chose to be bonded. I told you the risks, and you agreed." Her tone softened. "Besides, Aragorn's army of the dead will probably drive the ships before them from fear. I doubt we will have danger among the coast."

"Perhaps not," Thom said slowly. "I could never win when it came to you, even in the Stone of Tear. Very well." There was wry resignation from the bond now, sharpening quickly. "Know this. I will not like it if you are injured. I rescued you from the Finns. I do not want to rescue you again."

Moiraine knew he cared. "I will do my best," she said. "But we will ride together several more days. Tell me, if you wish, how goes your tale."

"I have decided to call it..the Circles of Bravery." Thom's voice was rich. "And it will be grand. I have already gathered much from the hobbits, and from the Elven queen. Starting at Creation, I will trace the full story of Elves, Men, Dwarves and Hobbits. And the Powers that rule above them. It will be the work of a lifetime. There is much to learn."

"What of Rand's cycle?" she asked.

"Complete," Thom said. "I finished the last stories just before the Creator brought us here. When we return, if we do, I will perform in Cairhien and Caemlyn, if Elayne will have me. From there, Ilian and Tear, the Borderlands, even mong the Seanchan. I talked to Loial before we left Lorien. His book is also complete."

"So it is done," Moiraine said. She knew he had been working hard to complete it. "I am pleased, Thom. The sacrifice of Rand should not go unrewarded. Even if he wears a different body now, his work is done. And this tale…"

"Will anyone believe it?" Thom said. "Travel to different worlds did not exist even in the Age of Legends, or so you have said. Yet we have done it."

Moiraine wondered. Was this how the Asha'man felt before the Cleansing, when everyone saw them as monsters? She had heard a little, from Cadsuane, as to what Rand had done in her absence. She still could hardly believe it. Yet here were the black coats, riding behind her, acting like any other soldiers. She knew the signs of the taint, and there were none.

Thom seemed sad. He had to be thinking of Owyn. She had been there, when the Vileness had been revealed, and Cadsuane had performed judgment. Even though the Black Ajah was done for, there were still some Reds who had not joined the Shadow, yet had still been a part. The full penalty had been carried out against them, and she had breathed a sigh of relief. So had Thom. She had held him as he had cried in sorrow and rage, just as he had done when she had awoken from nightmares of the redstone doorway and what was beyond. Aes Sedai or not, she was still human.

"I kept my word," she said.

Thom raised his eyes. "You did, at that. You are an honorable woman, and it is no burden that you hold my bond. Yet I am not as young as I once was, and you will live long beyond me." It was something they had spoken little of, yet Moiraine knew it had to be faced.

"I will release you, if you wish, before you die," she said. At least she could get him thinking of the idea, even if she thought he had many years left. "That way, you can die in peace, and I will not suffer the effects of the bond. Surely, there is family you wish to be with in your last days."

Thom seemed to be considering the offer. "Perhaps," he said. "It is something I must think on, but I think I will live for some time yet." Teslyn was riding with Halbarad, talking low with him, yet what she heard, she was pleased with. Thom looked at the two. "Perhaps even Teslyn might find someone who can protect her."

Moiraine laughed. Yet it was possible. For a Ranger and Red to marry was no less unlikely than a bard and princess. At the very least, Halbarad was someone like Lan, strong and fierce, a warrior of warriors, with a noble history and a call to protect that would serve her well. And they were long livers. At ninety, he was barely in his middle age.

"Perhaps," was all she said. Teslyn had confessed, after much thought, that if she had had a Warder, perhaps she would not have been caught by the Seanchan. Maybe she could be made to see the sense of an alliance. A marriage, perhaps not, but a Warder...she would think on what she would say. And for herself...well. There was still time.

181818

Teslyn rode slowly with Halbarad. She knew little of the Rangers. Aragorn had not told her much, but she was reminded of the Warders, with their call to protect. He looked a little older, even though he was some five years younger than the heir of Gondor, and was close kin, being Aragorn's cousin once removed on his father's side.

He was dressed in a grey cloak, pinned with a rayed brooch made of silver, marking his descent from Elendil. Otherwise, his clothing was remarkably plain, and so was his horse, rough and weathered as he was. He was asking of her world, having heard from the sons of Elrond who she was, and looked astonished. She had started small, speaking merely of the Aes Sedai and the Ajahs. Even then, his eyebrows had raised nearly to his hair.

"So you hunt evil," he said.

"No, not evil. Most of those the Red Ajah have caught are not evil at heart. Most are poor fools." Teslyn wondered why she had said that. It was true, but most Reds did not think of male channelers as such. "What the Dark One did...twisted their ability and drove them mad."

"So it was your duty to make sure they would not, in their madness, be a danger." Halbarad sighed. "How many did you catch, before your great deliverer cleansed them?"

"Five," Teslyn said. "Each one harder than the last. But let us not speak of that. Let us speak of the other Ajahs, and of the Warder bond." If anyone would make a good Warder, it would be the Rangers, with their call to serve and protect. She explained carefully, and Halbarad raised a heavy eyebrow.

"Would it not be a danger, for a woman to hold a man in such a way? What if she grew tired of him, or if he turned to evil, and betrayed the trust she had in him to protect her?"

"If he grows old, or can no longer perform his duties, he can be released, as he was bound. If he turns to evil…" she sighed, thinking of the Black Ajah. "Then the Aes Sedai pays the price, sometimes with her life. But it is hoped she has discernment of who she chooses before he is bound to her. And if he dies in her protection...then she must weep. And she will weep. The bond is stronger, in some ways, than marriage. Or so I have heard." And seen. She had never heard so much weeping than after the Last Battle. It seemed everyone in the White Tower mourned.

"But to have a protector so faithful," Halbarad said. "Were it possible, I would give up my sword for her, knowing that we would protect each other faithfully, she from what I cannot see, and I from what she cannot."

Teslyn looked at him, wondering if he was, in fact, making an offer. She would not take it, not from him. They were from different worlds, and she knew she was needed back in Ebou Dar, if she ever returned. She did not think he would follow, though if Sauron were defeated, some from Middle-Earth might visit. Still, it could not be, and she placed her hand on his arm gently.

"You have your fight, Halbarad, and I have mine," she said. "If I wish for a Warder, it will be from my own world. My sisters protect me until I do."

Hallbarad nodded, though his eyes were still thoughtful. She dropped back down the line, hoping someone else would explain more. Jahar passed her, heading to the front, and she looked at him. Young, strong, from the Borderlands from what she had heard.

Why was she thinking this way? Never before had she felt the desire for a Warder. As well desire the moon be made of cheese. Reds did not have Warders, ever, even though their work was by far the most dangerous of any Ajah. She knew, though. If she had had a Warder when the Seanchan had invaded Ebou Dar...then she wagered she would have been rescued within the first week. No, the first day! Her hand flew to her neck, where a collar had once rested. Perhaps it was better. Perhaps it was time the Reds reconsidered their position. If she ever returned, she would talk to the Highest and request that those who wanted Warders could choose them.

Moiraine smiled as she rejoined her. "Was Halbarad curious?" she asked.

"Yes," she said. "I was explaining the Warder bond. If anyone could be Warders, it would be the Rangers. Their calling and oath is already there, Moiraine, and with their blood, they live long lives."

"I have thought so too, ever since I heard of Aragorn's kin." Moiraine's voice was thoughtful. "But that means Aes Sedai would have to travel here, or Rangers would have to travel across the void. I cannot see anyone accepting such a sacrifice. Oh, maybe a Brown, for the purpose of study, but…we are still rebuilding after the Last Battle. Can you imagine Cadsuane letting anyone go, just to satisfy their curiosity?"

Teslyn could not, and said so. "Still, if Sauron is defeated, perhaps some Browns should come, to learn all they can. There are things here that we do not have in our own world. And…" she turned to Aragorn, who had fallen back to them.

"Likewise many scholars will be curious about your world," he said, completing the thought. "I am sure there will be travel back and forth, if the Bridge can be made firm." He shook his head. "We were taught that Arda was the only world created. Now we talk of visiting another. Who could conceive such marvels? I am still in awe."

Teslyn felt the same. Of course there were the stars, and the Worlds of If, but to find life across the void of space...it could hardly be conceived. She certainly had much to think about, and the rest of the ride to Dunharrow passed in silence.

 **A/N: We may be shocked by Teslyn here, considering her Ajah, but I think she is being logical, considering the situation and her background. Halbarad's thoughts, and his offer, are also logical, considering who he is and what he has sworn to. I guess we will just have to see what happens! This story has already had some twists I did not consider at the beginning, and Halbarad the Warder may indeed happen.**

 **Does anyone else think Sauron and the Witch-King will be surprised by gateways? The Free Peoples are being smart here in taking every advantage they have. The question is, will Sauron do the same?**


	19. Chapter 19- Strange Paths

Tuon loved horses, and never had she seen so many. As she approached Dunharrow, she saw a sea of tents, and by each tent was a horse, neatly hobbled. The encampment seemed to stretch over the valley floor, a Helm's Deep in reverse. Up above her was the Dimholt, the Dark Mountain, and the hidden entrance to the Paths of the Dead. She shivered, and she thought she could almost feel the spirits, dwelling inside the mountain.

Mat put an arm around her. "It is well we are not traveling that way," he said. His own voice, normally so confident, was shaky. He had told her of his journey among the Snakes and Foxes, and sometimes, at night, he would wake up yelling. It was then she would hold him until he could breathe again. For her part, she did not blame him, but she hoped that an Aes Sedai could heal his mind from the nightmares. If she gained enough skill, maybe she could be the one.

The king turned onto a narrow path, leading up toward the mountain, and she could see an encampment on a ledge. It made sense to her, that the king would have an encampment of his own. She was startled, however, by the strange statues that stood at each turn. Squat and stocky, the images looked like no race of man she had ever known.

Eomer, riding beside her, answered her question. "These are the Woses, the Wild Men of Druadan Wood. It is said, before the Dunlendings and the Rohirrim came, that they lived in this place. They dwell still, and at night, their drums can be heard."

Aragorn, on the other side, spoke softly. "They are woodcrafty beyond all compare. They do not attack the Rohirrim, and it is well, for it is said they use poisoned arrows."

Tuon shuddered, expecting one of the statues to come to life. She was reminded of some of the ancient tribes of Seander, still unused to the Empire's ways. Still, the statues remained lifeless, and soon they reached the small plateau. There was a small army of servants, and they soon had the tents up. Eowyn met them, bending her head.

"All is made ready, Theoden King," she said. "Men have been coming from all over the Mark. Your muster will soon be complete. Empress, Ladies." She dipped her head to Tuon, and she nodded back. From the corner of her eye, she saw a long line of pillars, and the road that led to the haunted mountain. And she saw how Eowyn looked at Aragorn.

She took Aragorn aside, when there was a moment. "I see how Eowyn looks at you," she said softly. "It cannot be hidden. Yet you are betrothed to another."

Aragorn looked weary. "She must find her own road," was all he said. "I cannot give her what she seeks." So he was faithful to Arwen. It was well. Still, Eowyn would be crushed. What could she do? Not Compulsion, to make her forget. Not a man, to help her forget her troubles. Perhaps the touch of the Power. Perhaps…no, she finally decided. Eowyn was like her, a warrior. She would come through.

"What was it you were thinking?" Mat said, pinching her ear. "Since we have a tent of our own…" he let his voice trail off, but his voice was hopeful. He smirked, and let his eyes drop below her face. She flushed, and hoped her dark skin would hide it.

"Not that, husband," she said, trying to maintain control. "No, it is the Lady Eowyn. She wants Aragorn, and...he belongs to another. I was thinking if perhaps the Power could be used to comfort her, but...Aragorn said she must find her own road."

Mat looked worried. "She is a warrior. She fights for what she loves. Light! That is a tangle. Still, Tuon, Aragorn is right. She will find another man. And I pray I am there to see it." Suddenly, she found her feet swept out from under her. Mat's roguish face grinned down on her. "I am sure we will be called to council soon. But until then…"

Tuon felt her control beginning to give way. She grinned up at him. "Well, we can try for another," she said, laughing. "Perhaps they can play with each other, instead of killing each other."

181818

Thom looked over at Gandalf. The wizard was pacing, deep in thought. He had been that way for quite some time, saying nothing. Moiraine stood beside them, waiting to make the gateway that would take them to the White City. Thom could feel her determination.

"Bring Pippin," Gandalf finally said. "Merry is a Knight of the Mark. Pippin may soften the Steward's heart, especially if he swears fealty himself. I do not like it, but they have been caught up in the ways of the great."

Moiraine went, and soon came back, the hobbit beside her. He looked scared, but said nothing. Gandalf knelt down beside him, and spoke softly. "Pippin, the Steward will not give up power easily. But if you go, perhaps you can change his mind. Theoden took to Merry. Will you come with me?"

Pippin stood tall. "Of course," he said.

Thom was still unsure of his role. Gandalf finally turned to face him. "The key is to find Faramir," he said. "I do not know how the Steward's other son fares. But he is well-loved in the CIty. Some even said that he should be Steward, rather than Boromir."

Thom could see it. "If he will accept Aragorn, then his father might as well. Even if Denethor does not, Faramir will lead the City to accept Aragorn's claim." Simple, as far as the Game of Houses went.

Gandalf nodded. "I myself will take a house in the City, but will not see Denethor, unless he asks for my aid. I do not want him to think I plan to supplant him. I am a simple guardian, still, and Denethor is the Steward by right. Still, if Frodo succeeds, the days of the King will come."

Moiraine spoke for the first time. "Many are those who cannot see change. I was one. But what of Sauron's attack? Should Denethor not know of what comes against him?"

"If Faramir can be convinced to believe Thom, he can move forces in his father's stead. But Aragorn has looked again in the Stone of Orthanc. Denethor has seen the danger, and has fortified the lands around the White City well. Very little needs be done on Gondor's part."

Thom nodded. "So he is not a total fool. Very well. Let us hope we succeed."

"I have learned this area well," Moiraine said. "I can open the gateway, as soon as you are ready. First, though, let me farewell my husband." Gandalf and Pippin left the tent, and Thom took Moiraine in his arms. He kissed her with feeling.

Moiraine was Cairhienan, and did not show much affection in public. In private, it was a different matter. His toes curled as he was thoroughly kissed, and he was sure Moiraine was using the Power. Perhaps she was warding him. If so, he would not complain.

"Remember," Moiraine said, only slightly breathless. "Do not put yourself in harm."

"I thought I told you that," Thom said, giving her another kiss. "You must tell me what happens at the coast."

"I will," Moiraine said. "Call Gandalf in, before he thinks we forget our duties."

Thom nodded, but the flap had already been pushed open. Pippin was wearing a grin, and Gandalf wore a small smile. Thom stood, serene, but winked at Pippin. "One day, you may have need of a proper goodbye, Peregrin Took."

"We are ready," Moiraine said, in full control. Only Thom would know she was still enjoying their goodbye. A line quickly appeared, and then a view in space, several inches above the ground. A huge white wall rose in front of them, seeming almost close enough to touch, and flagstones were beneath their feet. Moiraine seemed pleased.

Thom gave one last look at her, and then leapt through the gateway. Gandalf followed, and Pippin came after, dagger held in his fist as though he might have to use it. The gateway winked out behind them, and Thom took a deep breath, preparing himself for what might come.

"Here," Gandalf said. "If we walk along the wall, we will come to the Gate. Moiraine should be pleased. She put us at the bottom of the City. If we had appeared in front of the White Tower…" he left the thought unfinished, but Thom could imagine.

Soon they reached the Gate, a huge structure made of steel and stone. Thom had never seen its like, not even in Caemlyn. He thought even a dragon could not bring down that monstrosity. But he had no time to look further. Guards were swarming around them, demanding answers. He held up his hands in a gesture of surrender, hoping he would be taken for a simple old man.

181818

Perrin had heard Aragorn's words, and also wished the Lady well. Now he turned to Halbarad. He had not spoken to him along the road. "Will you also ride on these paths?" he said, jerking his head toward the line of pillars.

"We will," Halbarad said gravely, speaking for the other Dunedain, shadowy shapes in the gloom. He patted his horse. "We do not fear the dead."

Perrin could hear whispers, and soon Legolas and Gimli emerged from the tent they shared. That elf and dwarf could be friends, after such hostility between their races, cheered Perrin's heart. For once, though, Gimli looked grim. So did Legolas.

"Are you ready, laddie?" Gimli said.

Perrin patted the axe at his belt. Gimli nodded. It was answer enough. Perrin wished he had his Power-wrough hammer, and could not deny he was somewhat nervous. Not of ghosts. No, he felt it should be morning, but there seemed to be a shadow over the sun, steadily growing worse. Was this a work of Sauron? No one seemed to know, not since Gandalf had departed.

Legolas shook his head. "Let us hope they will recognize the line of Isildur." Perrin did not blame him for being nervous. Men and Elves were estranged, but Perrin knew Aragorn was a king. Knew it right down to his bones. This would merely be the final test.

Perrin swung up on Ringrold, gently patting the horse's head. Aragorn came up beside him and nodded. Perrin took the lead beside him. Gimli and Legolas followed behind, with the Dunedain in a long line behind the pair. Last, he knew, the sons of Elrond followed, the banner of Elendil in their saddlebags.

Men looked up as they passed, and Perrin could hear the whispers. He could smell the fear, fear of losing them or fear of the dead, he did not know. But he pressed on. His horse remained steady, even as they passed between the line of pillars. Pines as black as night loomed up around him, and he could smell a cold smell, almost like the Tower of Ghenjei, that showed he was entering into a place not meant for man. Under it was rock-hard determination, and he knew it was Aragorn's will, holding the rest of them steady.

Soon they reached the gate. Over it was an inscription. Aragorn read it slowly. "The way is shut, and the dead keep it." The determination increased. He could almost taste Aragorn's resolve as he pressed in, and was swallowed by blackness. Grimly Perrin lit his torch and passed behind him. This was not Moria. There were no skeletons, no musty smell. Nor was it like the Ways, a decaying terror that left no one untouched. It was simply...cold. He rubbed his arms.

"I see the dead," Legolas whispered. "Their banners are like streamers of cloud, and they follow. They are a great host." Perrin could feel them, though he could not see them. Still there was no fear, and he was glad. But the cold grew deeper. He wrapped his elven cloak tightly around him, and felt in his pockets for the seeds Galadriel had given. They were round and hard, like acorns, and as he remembered the mallorns of Lorien, the cold faded. He drew a deep breath, even as a wind blew past him, putting out his torch. His horse whinnied softly, but continued on.

Around him, he felt the passageway open into a vast chamber. He continued to ride, feeling at last a crunch under his boots, and trying not to think about what the sound meant. On he rode, while the cold grew around him once more and the sense of space vanished back into a tunnel.

"We are nearly there, my friends," Aragorn said. And like that, they came out. They were still surrounded by rock, but above him, he could see stars, blurred to be sure by the murk, but still stars. He laughed. They had made it through the mountain.

Aragorn called over his shoulder. "Now ride! Ride for the Stone of Erech! I am Aragorn, of the line of Isildur, and I call you to your allegience!" Perrin saw him kick Hasufel in the flanks, and the horse leapt away. Perrin kicked his own horse, and the great race was on. As they rode, the canyon opened up into a plain. Settlements passed, and lights went out as they rode along. Perrin knew it was the terror of the Dead.

Finally, at midnight, or as close as he could determine, they reached the Stone of Erech. Black and rounded, and as smooth as though it was polished, it loomed above Perrin's head. Aragorn halted, and slid off his horse. Perrin copied him, and waited. Now he could almost see something...a crown, or perhaps it was a banner? Out of the air, a voice spoke. "You have commanded us!" it said, slow and deep. "What is your command, Aragorn of Isildur?"

Aragorn's voice came back clear, the voice of a king. Perrin himself nearly bowed at the authority in that voice. "Ride with me against Sauron," he said. "Ride for me, and hold your oaths fulfilled! Ride!"

Again the voice came back. "We follow," he said.

Perrin breathed out a sigh of relief. Aragorn had passed his final test, and commanded the Dead. Now, at last, he followed a king.

181818

Faile paused to listen. For a few days, they had been going through the woods of Ithilien. It had been hard at first, making their way around the corner of Mordor's defenses, fearing every day that perhaps they would be caught on the barren plain. But eventually, they passed into the woods. Faile did not relax fully. This was territory still controlled by the Enemy, after all. But the trees and the little streams lifted her heart.

She dipped behind the tree in front of her. She had found a pool of water, deep enough for her to sink into. She wanted to wash. Stripping off her dress and shift, she washed and wrung them out, then sank into the pool gratefully. It was cold, but refreshing after the dust of the Battle Plain. Frodo and Sam had promised to stand guard, and she trusted their protection after all she had seen.

Her hair had grown long, and she washed it out. Then she washed her body carefully, feeling the strain of long walking and the bruises she had taken. They did not hurt as much as they had, but they still hurt. She could not take long, but she rested in the pool for several more moments before clambering out. Her shift was dry, and though her dress was still damp, it was not as dirty as it had been.

Dressing quickly, she found the hobbits had made a small, hidden fire. She did not like it, but was mollified when she saw the rabbits being cut up by Sam. "No taters," he muttered. "Just some herbs. But it will make a good broth anyway." His sword was beside him, but Frodo looked like he was resting.

Faile couldn't blame him. The weight of the Ring had worn him out. She also didn't blame Sam for taking care of his master. She herself saw how thin Frodo had become. She had a little salt in her pack, and added it to the broth. For a campfire meal, it was not bad.

"Where'd Gollum go?" she asked, noticing he was missing.

"He went off to do his own hunting," Sam said. "Stinker was upset when I started cooking the rabbits, and I made a deal with him. He doesn't see our eating, and we don't see his, see?" He nodded at his sword. "The fear of steel will hold him for a while yet, Lady Faile."

Faile nodded. Sam could not lie, it seemed, and the understanding with Gollum seemed fair. She certainly wouldn't want to see raw meat being eaten. The rabbits were nearly done, and she tasted the broth one more time. "Put the fire out as soon as it is done," she said quietly. "I will scout around once more before we eat."

Sam nodded, and Faile walked around their small camp. In the woods, they could walk by day, and she wanted to see if there were any sign of footprints on their path. She saw no footprints, but she did see a sign of carnage. In a small clearing just off their path, she found bones, gnawed. It was clear some men had been there, and been ambushed by orcs. She hoped Gollum would not see it. The bones had been desecrated. They did not need to be desecrated more. But she saw no other sign of enemies.

She soon returned to see Frodo sitting up, and eating with Sam from the pan. "You shouldn't have made a fire, Sam," he said. "But it smells good."

"A gift from Gollum, Mister Frodo," Sam said. He noticed Faile and motioned for her to join them. She sat gratefully and ate the hot broth. It had been the best thing she had tasted in weeks, and with a wafer of lembas, it seemed a feast. Sam whistled for Gollum, but he did not appear.

"We will wait for him to join us," Faile said. She made sure the fire was out, and laid back against a tree. She was still watchful, however. The site of the ambush was still fresh in her mind, and though she could not see danger, she knew it could be anywhere.

She was just about to rise and walk around the camp once more when suddenly the sounds of the forest were cut off, and she heard birdcalls. Not natural. Frodo and Sam were instantly there, and she tried to determine which direction was safe. The decision was soon taken from her.

Men, masked in green to blend with the trees, all carrying long bows, soon surrounded her and the hobbits. There was no way she could fight them all. Holding up her hands in surrender, she nodded to the hobbits. If these men were evil, they would eventually find a way to escape.

Faile felt her hands being bound, but not cruelly. She thought that might be hopeful. The men pulled off their hoods, revealing men that looked very much like the pictures of Gondorians she had seen. The leader was the last to pull off his hood, and her heart gave a great lurch of hope. This had to be Faramir, Boromir's brother.

She bowed low, feeling her bonds. "Faile, a woman of the West," she said. "These are my companions, Samwise Gamgee and Frodo Baggins of the Shire."

"Well met. Damrod, Mablung, guard the prisoners." He turned to Faile. "I will decide what to do with you when I return." His voice was quiet and young, but the voice of a leader if she had ever heard it. Her suspicions were confirmed when he marked off men to their positions. Soon the crowd of men had melted back into the brush. All she could see was the tips of longbows. It was a clever trick, and if Perrin could be persuaded, she would have some Saldaeans outfitted so. The two men remained, hands on their swords, but making no other move.

Mablung was the older, with brown hair and gray eyes, while Damrod was the younger, with hair nearly blonde and an open face. Faile wanted to ask questions, but would wait. The whole air had gone tense, confirmed when the two men motioned for them to get down. There was a sudden snap of bowstrings, and cries from the valley below them. An ambush, then. But of who?

She peered up over the rock she was hiding behind. Arrows were still flying from unseen bows, while a mass of red-coated men milled in the valley below. The men of Harad, then, which made the leader Faramir for certain. She dropped back down behind her hiding place, wishing she had use of her bow. If she had it, she might prove she was no enemy.

The cries were growing louder, and she heard footsteps coming toward her, almost as though the Haradrim were wanting to trap the ambush. The footsteps stopped suddenly, and she saw Mablung's hand grab the hilt of his sword. It was not necessary. There was a rolling sound, and when it stopped, she looked over the rock again.

It was her first look at the men of Harad. His armor was plain steel, painted red, and he wore a gold collar. His black hair was plaited in a braid, like an Arafellin, and he still clutched his sword in his hand. His face was dark, and his black eyes looked sightlessly at the sky.

Sam had seen, also, and his hands were over his mouth in horror. Faile suddenly realized he had killed orcs, but never yet seen a battle between two groups of men. She gave him a comforting look. "Courage for our friends," she whispered. Sam nodded, and a little of the fire came back into his eyes.

Suddenly there was a thump, as though rams were being pounded on the ground. Sam looked up in wonder, and Faile peered over the rock again. She at first couldn't make sense of what she was seeing. At first it looked as though a gray hill was moving, when suddenly it resolved into a huge creature, bigger than anything she had ever seen. "An oliphaunt," Sam said, putitng a name to the creature.

She had heard of them from Aragorn, but the reality was far different. Men looked like ants on its back, and towers hung precariously from its huge shoulders. Scarlet thread hung from its tusks, red with blood, and its ears were laid back in anger. She wondered how it could be destroyed, if it could even be. It was maddened by the arrows flying around it, but the barbs seemed to have no other effect. It did not slow, but veered toward them. Faile put a hand over her head instinctively, and Mablung and Damrod ducked. The ground shook right next to them, then the huge creature trampled back down the hill.

"That was as close as I wanted," Faile said shakily. She thought even Perrin could hear her pounding heart. For once, Damrod and Mablung nodded.

"Aye, lady," Mablung said, speaking for the first time. Damrod rose and peered around a tree. The sounds of battle were winding down, and she relaxed a little. If these were men of Gondor, they would be honorable men, and she was sure she could get a hearing.

Indeed, soon enough, Faramir came back up the hill. His sword was stained, but he cleaned it carefully before sheathing it, and made a bow to her. All polite, but those eyes were hard now. His men gathered around him in a half-circle, those that were not being tended. Faile swallowed. Just how much should she say?

"Lady," he said. "Strangers do not pass in Ithilien, except for the servants of the Enemy? Are you one? Speak quickly!"

181818

Faramir did not know what to make of the strangers. One had the air of royalty. The others looked like children. They did not look like spies of the Enemy, but he had been ordered to hold Ithilien at all costs, and he had seen no strangers, not even the Rohirrim. And these were not of that noble race.

At his question, the woman bowed her head. "We merely seek to travel through Ithilien. We are no servants of the Enemy. In fact, we come from the hidden valley of Rivendell, and are on an errand of great importance."

Faramir's heart lifted. Rivendell was the city to which his brother had gone. Perhaps these strangers had news.

The brown-haired halfling spoke slowly. "We came with others. An elf of the Woodland Realm, a dwarf of the Lonely Mountain, two of my kin from the Shire, four of the Lady Faile's friends, Strider, a man from the North, and Boromir, a man of Gondor, along with Gandalf, the Grey Wizard. We passed from Rivendell through Moria. There Gandalf fell." He shuddered. "Then we took refuge in the City of the Elves, in Lorien." He plucked at his cloak. "It is there we received these gifts."

Stranger and stranger. Such companions. And his brother among them. He knew of both Moria, which had a dark name even in Gondor, and Lorien, a place of perilous mystery. It did not sound like a lie, either. At least, no lie was in their faces. He decided to ask the question burning in his mind.

"Were you friends of Boromir?" he asked. Sam looked about to speak, but the one named Frodo put a hand on his arm. Faile also stood silent. So this halfling was the leader?

"For my part," he said. Faramir looked in his eyes. He told the truth, but not all. Something had broken the fellowship. He knew his brother, a proud man and true, would not like other royalty. He was sure Faile was one, even though she did not lead.

"And you, Lady Faile?" he asked. "What part have you in this?"

"At the Falls of Rauros, our company was attacked by orcs." She looked weary. "Of our other companions, I do not know. The three of us were able to escape, and I have protected the halflings on the road East." Her voice, though weary, was firm.

"And what is your errand?" Faramir asked. He knew that was the heart of the matter. And Gandalf! Though others did not like the wizard, he did. He knew the news, then, was dire. Especially for three to journey on the borders of Mordor.

Faile shook her head. "In private, we may speak of that," she said. "Not here. Is there a place we might rest? For we are weary."

Faramir nodded. Even if they were spies, they could do little among his Rangers. And if they spoke truth, they deserved shelter. "Yes. We have a place not far from here. Mablung, release their bonds." Mablung quickly cut their ropes and stood them on their feet.

As they walked, Faramir thought over all he had heard. There was no lie in their faces, but he knew all the royalty of Middle-Earth. This Faile could not be. She looked like no Rohirrim. Nor was she of Gondor, with her tilted eyes. The Haradrim were darker, and no Easterling would come this far west. A mystery, then. And so was the mystery of the fellowship breaking. They were marked by sorrow, and he knew nothing of Boromir's fate. Now, though, he suspected the truth. Dire news, indeed. But Faile had asked to wait. He would not ask until Henneth Annun.

At the bottom of the slope to the hidden caves, he bowed. "It is our policy that no one, not even the Rohirrim who are our allies, know the way to our refuge. We must blindfold you."

Frodo nodded. Damrod had strips of cloth ready, and wrapped them firmly. Then the three of them were turned, as to lose their direction. Faramir himself led Faile by the hand, while the halflings were led by Mablung and Damrod.

For one so young, she was a fighting woman. Her hand had the callouses of the sword. Strange, unless she had lived among the men of the North. A shadow had come to Gondor of the news that the line of Elendil might still live, and she had said as much as she had traveled with one. If so...if so...all Faramir wanted was for the glory of Gondor to be restored. If the king returned...his thoughts spun.

They had come to the Window on the West, and he ordered her eyes be unbound. Frodo and Sam gasped in wonder, and Faile's eyes widened. "It is beautiful," she whispered.

"You have come at a fortuitous time," Faramir said. "Anor, as it sets, lights the curtain of Henneth Annun, our home. It is not the White Tower, but it is our refuge." Carefully, he led them around the slippery rocks, behind the falling curtain, and to an alcove where they could rest.

"If I may be courteous to you, Lady," he said. "There are some of the men of your build. Might we give you some clothes, and wash yours? No woman should wear clothes so tattered." He was scandilized. Faile's dress was almost hanging off of her, and he turned away.

"Perhaps it should simply be burnt," she said, as though guessing his thoughts. "Elrond provided for us well, more so the Lady Galadriel, but the walk has been long since then. My shift, though, is still as it should be."

"Very well," Faramir said as he hung up a curtain. "Here you may rest. I will wake you at the evening meal." More and more, he was sure they were no threat. Faile nodded, then covered a yawn. Frodo looked about to fall down where they stood, and even the stout Sam had eyes red with weariness.

Soon he came back with simple breeches and a shirt of well-made cotton, and a pair of stout shoes. The soldier, Berion by name, was glad to give up a change of clothes for the lady that had appeared among them. Soon enough, the dress was passed over. It was indeed in bad shape. So was the shift, no matter what she said, but he had no replacement. Carefully, he set it aside to mend. He was fair with needle and thread, and he would work while they rested.

Faile came out from behind the blanket. The clothes fit her remarkably well. Definitely, she was better covered than she had been before. She wiggled her feet in the shoes and smiled. "Thank you," she said. "I was worried about the shoes, but they fit as well as though I had been measured myself."

"It is nothing," Faramir said, though he was pleased. "Now rest." He pushed them behind the curtain. "I will wake you at the evening meal."

181818

"Can we trust him?" Sam asked as soon as their makeshift curtain settled back into place. He peeked out the bottom. No one was there, or nearby. "He is Boromir's brother, or near as I can see, and we know what happened with him! Begging your pardon, but best make an escape now."

Faile shook her head. "I don't think we could. I am certainly no match for all these men. I think we must trust him, Sam. He has treated us with no disrespect. Yes, we are prisoners, but it is no more than anyone else would do in times of war. Better, maybe." She yawned.

"And if he knew what we carried?" Sam persisted. He knew they were surrounded, and Faile knew about war and other Men. But Frodo was his master. "If they knew…"

"I do not think Faramir is like his brother," Faile said softly. "Boromir was proud, eager for battle, and heastrong. Faramir does not act like that. I believe Gandalf spoke truth when he called Faramir the wiser of the two. I am willing to accept that wisdom, though we need not speak all we know."

Sam could accept that. "Rest, Master Frodo. You too, Lady Faile. I will keep watch." Slipping under the curtain, he stood watch beside it, observing men washing their faces and setting up tables and dishes. He stuck his fingers in his eyes and shook his head. Finally, he saw a tall man coming toward him, carrying water. Faile was awake, and poked her head out. She accepted the bowl and washed her face, then offered it to Frodo. He did the same, to the man's consternation, then it was Sam's turn. He lathered his face well, and felt himself revive. The man was meant to wait on him, but he was a servant himself. It was not proper.

Faramir came back toward them. He seemed surprised they were all awake, but he merely spoke that the meal was ready, and led them to the table themselves. Sam was pleased with the furnishings and food. It was simple, as a hobbit would have it, but filling. He did not refuse a second, or even a third helping. But he remembered what Faile had said, and the Inn at Bree, where disaster had nearly happened. He spoke of their journey, but little of their errand, speaking only of what they had seen and done. He also had a feeling about this Man. He felt sure they were of Gondor, and this man reminded him of Boromir. If so, he would speak well of the Man who had fallen.

The man seemed pleased, then finally spoke. "It is time I was honest with you," he said. "I am Faramir, the brother of Boromir. You have spoken well of him, but how was it that he died?" His tone was sharp, and his eyes turned to Frodo.

"He fell, defending us from orcs. When last I saw him, before we made our escape, he was plucking an arrow from his side. He gave us time to get away, my friend and I." Frodo's face was grave. "As he was in life, so he was in death."

Faramir nodded. "So I suspected. My men and I, we defend Ithilien still, and at the pools beneath the fall of Rauros, I saw his horn, cloven in two. I did not recover it." His voice was proud and strong. "The elves of the golden wood, now. We thought them only a rumor. And the Lady Galadriel. She is one of the oldest elves left in this middle earth. Feanor's cousin...to be blessed by her is to be blessed indeed."

"Like a diamond she was, sir," Sam explained. He had always loved the elves. "Beautiful as the sun, soft as a lily, stronger than steel. She is impossible to describe."

"Perilously fair, you might say," Faramir said.

"Yes, Mister Faramir, but there is no danger about her. Those that are dangerous bring danger with them."

Now Faramir's eyes sharpened again. "You think my brother brought danger with him, then?"

"Yes, begging your pardon. It was in Lorien that I saw what Boromir always wanted. He wanted the Enemy's Ring!" Suddenly Sam realized what he had said. He felt his face flushing scarlet. Faile had jumped up, and her knees were bent, ready to fight. Frodo, who had fallen silent, looked around with the expression of a hunted animal.

He tried to recover. "You've been very fair to us," he said, "putting me off my guard, you might say. Now is the chance to show your quality, sir."

"So it seems," Faramir said. "And I have a host of men at my call, and the enemy's ring within my grasp. So this is the answer to all the riddles!" He stood, and put his hand on his sword hilt. Sam drew his dagger, and Frodo half-drew Sting. He could see steel in Faile's hand.

Faramir sat slowly. "Alas, it was too great a trial. Put away your weapons. I do not wish to hurt you. I have read more than my brother, enough to know about the Ring. I have no wish to take it." He sounded entirely sincere, and Sam sat slowly, still wary from the scare.

"I saw the danger even in Moria," Faile said slowly. "It seems, though, that your brother died with honor, mastering his temptation. You show the same quality, Lord Faramir."

Faramir shrugged, a little uneasily. Faile had still not sat. "Perhaps it is wise that we found each other," Faramir said. "I can help you, if you wish it. No, Faile, I will not hurt you. I have no wish to hurt a queen of a land I do not know."

Faile sat slowly. "We would appreciate your aid," she said. "What can you give us?"

"First I must know what you must do with the Enemy's weapon," Faramir said. "I cannot believe that you will bring it to the Enemy, not if Gandalf sent you."

"I take it to Mordor," Frodo said. "Gandalf said I must destroy it. I do not know how I will get there." He sagged, overcome, and Faramir gently caught him.

"The Cracks of Doom," Faramir said as he gently carried Frodo to their resting place. "And what was your route?"

Sam took up the tale, feeling sure now that Faramir meant no harm to his master. "We came over the Emyn Muil to the Dead Marshes, in order to avoid the Battle Plain. Then we came to the Black Gate, but it was impassible." No need to speak of Gollum. Not one mention had been made, and if they had shaken his scent, so much the better. "We had seen maps in Rivendell. There is Minas Morgul, and we thought to try the pass. Apparently, there is a stair above the main pass, and then a tunnel. We heard a tale of a monster high in the mountains, but in the darkness, perhaps we can avoid city and monster."

"So you know the dangers," Faramir said. "Travelers that try and pass the Haunted City never return. I do not like your chances, but if the Ring is destroyed…" He paused. "I will help you and your master. We will give you provisions, and with our ambush, the road should be clear." He smiled. "You protected your master well. There is great loyalty between you. And the queen?" 

Faile had followed, and spoke softly. "I will tell you that story," she said. "Let the hobbits rest, and we will speak all you wish to know. The telling will be long."

"Very well," Faramir said, and turned to go.

"One thing, Mister Faramir," Sam said. "You took your chance, and showed your quality- the very highest."

"Nay, Master Samwise. The praise of the praiseworthy is its own reward, though I desire to do only what I have always done."

Sam smiled. This man was nothing like his brother. A fighter, certainly, but still a wise man. He had one more thing to say. "You have said we remind you of the West. Well, you remind me of wizards, and Master Gandalf."

Faramir looked as though he had received the highest compliment. "Perhaps you feel, from afar, the air of Numenor. Good night!"

 **A/N: So here we meet Faramir. I have always like Faramir the best of all the human characters. He does the right thing, and is an honorable man. The movie butchered his character, and so I wanted to keep closer to the book.**

 **As for Gollum, I fully agree with Sam and Faile's view of him. Those who break a promise they have sworn should not get a second chance. I am still deciding if he should get one, or if he...accidentally gets shot while the ambush is occurring. What do you all think?**

 **The calling of the Dead was made dramatic in the movie, and I don't doubt it was exciting. But Perrin has seen the Ways, and fought Darkhounds and worse. I have the feeling that for him, it would not be the terror-filled ride it is for the others.**

 **As always, if you have any suggestions or questions for the story, let me know. Hopefully I am improving as I go, and the end should be far better than the beginning!**


	20. Chapter 20- Holes In Air

Merry looked up at Mat. He seemed sad, for some reason. Or maybe simply unhappy at the situation. He wasn't happy, either. The sun had gone behind a cloud, it seemed. Moiraine said it felt like darkness. He hated not seeing the sun.

And he missed Pippin. Gandalf had taken him, without a word. Pippin was always irrepressibly cheerful. Even when he was foolish. He had wanted to look in the Palantir, now that Strider had wrenched it to his will, but Aragorn had taken it away with him on his journey…

He was hoping that Mat would help cheer him up, but he looked grim himself. His wife looked like death walking. Perhaps it was the separation. First Perrin and Faile, then Thom and Moiraine, now Mat and Tuon. He didn't like the pattern he saw. It was though the Enemy was dividing them one by one.

He tried to remind himself that it was ridiculous. Everyone was needed in their place, but he didn't like it. "Are you sure?" he heard Mat ask. "I know Osgiliath is where the stroke will fall, but...these pirates. They won't treat you well if they catch you."

Tuon's response was serene, the words of a queen on her throne. "They would not dare." And then, with a little heat, "Boromir at first suspected that I was a Haradrim witch. Well, then, let us see if I can give some weight to the name."

Mat laughed. "Call it a husband's concern," he said, sounding shocked at his own words. "I think I will miss you. Light!"

Merry remembered that Mat and Tuon had been laughing and giggling like some younger hobbit lads and lasses two nights before. She had seen how Sam and Rosie looked at each other. With that, he realized all the battles and blood so far were merely a diversion, a way to distract Sauron while Frodo crept toward Mordor. The thought made him feel bleak.

Theoden came up to Merry then. "Stay close to me," he said. "All will be well."

Merry fingered his knife. He had gotten new armor when they arrived at Dunharrow, but he could not give up the knife he had gotten from the Barrow-Downs. It was a memory of a happier time, when Tom Bombadil filled them full of honey and wine. The king, too, was a kind man, sitting him at his table and asking for stories of the Shire.

Merry had a small pony, Windfola by name, who almost pranced with eagerness. "Is all ready?" he asked as he swung into the saddle.

"Yes. The men have been divided. We will ride down to where the men are camped. Our company will go first, then from there, we will see what we will see. It is my hope that we can take control of the crossings at Osgiliath, and make any orcs pay dearly."

"Mine too, Lord," he said. He hoped it would be enough. The muster had merely grown as the dark days passed, and hundreds of new tents were added to those already there. Merry couldn't believe how many men had come. He knew why. It was the strangers, and their power, that had kept so many safe and whole for the battle to come.

Tam came up beside him. He had been down with the men, checking to make sure all was in readiness, and the fact he had returned to the king's camp showed all was. "Seven thousand horse for Osgiliath," he said. "Two thousand and five hundreds for the coast, and five hundred for Cair Andros, as you requested. The three women are ready to open gateways, as are Jahar and Damer."

The king nodded. Tam took a moment to look down at Merry. "My son...well, no one expected what he would do." He swallowed. "I expected he would not leave his home, that he would marry Egwene. It did not happen in that way. You too have a place in the Pattern, Merry." He leaned closer. "I do not think you are baggage, no matter what Saruman said."

Merry nodded, and felt a darkness he had not known existed lift off of him. He had half-believed Saruman's words. After all, what had he done for the Quest? But he chose, in that moment, to believe that Tam was right, and sat straighter as, with total silence, the king mounted and began to step downward toward the camp and battle.

181818

Jahar waited with Gamling. He had the smallest company, but he still did not feel prepared. He was a soldier, not a captain. Still...he would do his duty.

Gamling was beside him. He had a weathered face and hair that was white at the temples, yet still had a strong sword arm. Jahar had sparred with him over the previous days, and was amazed. Now it had come time for them to lead.

One other thing he had done. He had tested the Ring Gandalf had given him. It was called the Ring of Fire, after all. It was not that kind of fire, though, but a fire of the heart. He knew the darkness was a trick of the Enemy, even if Moiraine had not said so, but wearing the Ring, he felt confident, strong, and ready. Even Gamling looked stronger when he was around. The five hundred horsemen behind him sat still, only the occassional shuffle of hooves breaking the silence, as disciplined as any Borderland force.

The king had ordered silence, and Jahar was determined to obey. Teslyn stood by his shoulder, ready for the king's order to move. She did not look worried, but rather serene. Even Jahar could not argue with the battle plan. It was the best he could think of.

Suddenly Teslyn pointed. High, high above the camp, a single fiery arrow flew. Jahar seized saidan. As the stronger, he would lead. He felt the currents of saidar as Teslyn came in to the ring, and bent space to his will. A hole opened in the air in front of him, quickly extending so that about five riders could go through at a time. Jahar felt the strain. He was not good with gateways, and Teslyn was just at the limit of power that would allow her to create one. But it was enough. He could see the island, splitting the river, and the rocky hills beyond.

Immediately, Gamling rode through, and the five hundred after him. Jahar would come last, using his strength to keep the gateway open. As he watched the horsemen ride through, he checked for enemies. None had come yet. The island looked peaceful, but he did not like it. He did not think Sauron was stupid, and here, where there was an entrance to Gondor, he expected resistance. Maybe they had gotten ahead, for once, and caught the Dark Lord off guard. Still, he was wary.

The last of the five hundred rode through, and Jahar nodded at Teslyn. She let go of saidar, leaving Jahar alone. He let go of the weave, and felt the gateway closing. Spurring his horse, he leapt through, sword already in his hand and the Power filling him, ready for anything that might occur.

181818

Moiraine waited, her dark eyes serene, waiting for Teslyn to come. Tuon sat beside her, hands shifting on her reins. Eomer, on her right, looked over at her. "You seem very calm," he said. "Are you not nervous? Your fellow sister is."

Moiraine looked at the young prince. His eyes were fierce, filled with youthful energy and a passion to avenge wrongs. Yet she had seen how he treated those who were weaker than himself. A good leader, when his time came, having already faced several tests.

"No," she said, remembering her time with the Finns. "I have seen many things, things that might give you nightmares. I am also an Aes Sedai. Part of our testing is that we must remain calm under great pressure. And also, I am part of my country's royal house. Do you, Eomer, reveal all your emotions to your subjects?"

"Not all," the prince said. "Yet next to Gondor, we were known as wild men of the North, barbarians, even. So some say." He grimaced. "My oaths hold me, and is that not the measure of what it means to be a man of honor?"

Moiraine nodded. "It is, Eomer of the Mark," she said quietly. "Would it be that more remembered that."

"Look," he said. A flaming arrow was rising, and immediately Moiraine fell silent, seizing the Power. Tuon tightened her hand on her reins, and Moiraine could feel her adding her strength. Teslyn came riding up, and her strength was added as well. Twisting the Pattern, she commanded a gateway, and it opened, next to a beautiful castle on a high promontary. Gulls sighed in the air, and the smell of salt came through to her nose.

"You brought us by Dol Amroth," Eomer said. "Prince Imrahil is an honorable man, and some say he has elven blood. We wil have a warm welcome with him. Thank you, Lady Moiraine."

Moiraine nodded, and motioned that he should lead his men through. "The three of us will hold open the gateway," she said. "We must do the same for the king's men, and then we will join you."

Eomer nodded his understanding. WIth a single wave of his hand, he motioned for his eored, and they rode through slowly. Moiraine, from her side of the gateway, could see figures on the castle wall motioning, and could almost feel their surprise. She continued to watch as the men continued past her, horse after horse, a flood of cavalry. The castle gates were opening now, a single horsed figure riding out. This had to be the Prince, and he was certainly all that Eomer had said. He bowed to Eomer as the men continued to flood through, and she could almost hear their conversation.

The Prince's eyebrows rose in surprise, then he smiled. He peered toward the gateway, as though attempting to see who was behind it. They would meet soon, she was sure, but for now, she had to leave the gateway clear for the Rohirrim. The last horsemen were riding through, and she motioned for her two sisters to appear.

Imrahil looked up from where he was talking with Eomer, and noticed them. His eyes rose, and he made as though to ride toward them. Eomer shook his head and said something, and the Prince nodded. Moiraine stepped back and let the gateway go with a sigh of relief. They would have to rest for a short time, and then they would do for Theoden's men.

181818

Theoden waited. He knew the sisters had to rest. Tam sat beside him. He would follow his own command, waiting without speaking, though he had many questions for the weather-beaten captain. The camp at Dunharrow looked emptier, though a great host still sat behind him, ready to ride to Osgiliath.

Mentally, he prepared himself. He had met Faramir once, and had no doubt he would be a great prince when the time came. He preferred Boromir, it was true, but Faramir was no mean warrior. How would he feel if men suddenly appeared? Moiraine thought Imrahel rejoiced, but Imrahel was not the son of the Steward. He thought of how to answer the questions that might come to him, as King. Regardless, he would fufill his oath.

Still he waited, as the sun began to fall toward the woods. Finally, Moiraine appeared, Teslyn and Tuon beside her. All three wore the cloths Eowyn had made for them, and Theoden felt a stab of disquiet. He knew well his sister-daughter was a strong woman, wishing to fight in her country's defense. Nevertheless, she was the last member of the house of Eorl and Thengel his father. She would be the best to hold the scattered Rohirrim together while he went off to war. She had sworn no oath, but he had, kneeling before the Steward to renew the words of Eorl the Young. He could not deny the call, nor would he. All he could do was hope that Eowyn would understand.

"We are rested," Moiraine said. "None of us have skill with gateways, but we have the strength. It will be enough, King Theoden." She motioned, and Theoden wondered what was happening. Suddenly the air in front of him seemed to tear, and he saw the ruined towers of Osgiliath perhaps half a league away. The hole grew larger, enough for some ten men to ride abreast, then stopped. He looked at Moiraine and saw the strain on her face. So she had made it as large as possible. Still, it was enough.

He remembered the warning Moiraine had given, not to touch the edges of the gateway. His captains also knew, and he rode carefully in the middle, Erkenbrand on one side, and Tam on the other. He made it through safely, and looked around. The three women had succeeded, for he could see Mundburg, over the plains of Pelennor, the White Tower catching what rays pierced the gloom. He turned quickly, riding on toward the ruined city, feeling his men behind him.

He soon came to the western side of the city, and there he was challenged by sentries. Their eyes widened when he gave his name and title. "We are glad you are here, King Theoden," said the eldest, giving his name as Mablung. "But in truth, we sent no message. How is it you know our need?"

"That can wait. Gandalf, who you call Mithrandir, will explain all when he arrives."

"So this gate is his doing? We did not know he had such skill."

"No," Theoden said, smiling. "No, but we have other aid, sent to help us in our time of need. How stand the defenses? And where is Faramir?"

"I am here," Faramir said, striding up and bowing. "Welcome, King Theoden. Your coming is the sign of hope, and we will use all the help you can give us, no matter how you came, or how you know our need." He seemed less surprised than his sentry, but Faramir had always seemed to know more than he revealed.

"I bring seven thousand horse," Theoden said. "Five hundred go to Cair Andros, to watch the northern flank, while two thousands and five hundred go to rid the coast of enemies. Is that sufficient?" He smiled as he said it.

"More than!" Faramir said. "We fear that there are enemies on the eastern shore. My scouts ambushed a company of Haradrim coming up the road from the South, and they were completely destroyed. But this fume...we do not like it. The Enemy had merely been testing our strength, we feel, and it is my opinion we will need every horse before the end."

"Then let me set my men in readiness," the king said. "Are there any other crossings?"

"The bridge is thrown down, and we do not know if the Enemy will use boats. It is said that orcs fear water, but this is the only ford for many leagues, and the best place to force a crossing."

Theoden nodded. "Tam, will you take your men to the left? Erkenbrand, to the right. Scour the city for any attackers. I will lead my company down the middle to where the bridge once stood. I do not like this silence, either."

"My scouts will go with your men," Faramir said. "We know the ruined city well. If there is an enemy, we will flush it out."

Tam spoke. "If we could get men to the other side, to sneak toward the haunted city…we could see the enemy coming."

"No," Faramir said. "I do not want to risk it." He would not say why, and Theoden wondered what danger there could be, if they had cleared the eastern shore of enemies.

Tam was also scratching his head, but nodded. "We will stay on this side, then," he said. Whistling, he began to lead his men off to the left. Faramir walked with him, and as soon as they were out of earshot, Theoden saw Faramir began to speak. His suspicioons were correct. They spoke of the Ring...and if...his mind turned. If Frodo was on the eastern shore, would he be trapped by the enemies that Faramir was sure were coming?

Mablung walked beside him, his sharp eyes scanning every piece of rubble they passed. Theoden wove Snowmane carefully through the mess, following Mablung's directions, and soon reached the river. It was as Faramir had said, the bridge was cast down. His eyes were not as sharp as they once were, but he could see nothing on the other shore, just more rubble. "Do you see anything?" he asked the scout.

"Nothing," Mablung said. "Wait...I saw movement." He pointed, and Theoden could see a line of figures, darking behind a fallen statue. They were too short to be men, and they moved in the loping gait he knew of orcs.

"Faramir is right. The enemy is on the eastern side," Theoden whispered. "Will they try and force a crossing?"

"Ithilien is a wooded land," Mablung whispered back. "They could make rafts." He whistled a birdcall, and another man appeared. "Damrod. Warn Faramir that the enemy is moving. We should set an ambush. Can your men hide?" he said, looking at the king.

The king looked around at the ruined city. There were many hiding places, and enough rubble to hide horse and man alike. He nodded, seeing the wisdom of the plan. He put his hand on Damrod's shoulder. "Spread the word to any of my men that you see as well. They will know what to do."

True, they were used to the wide open plains of their home, but they could hide and shoot. Perhaps not as well as Faramir's men, but he knew enough to know that they would learn fast, and give account of themselves.

Mat came up, and king remembered that he was at the end of the line. So all the horsemen had made it. Theoden knew he was a dangerous man, but loyal, a skilled fighter that would keep his promises. The king quickly filled him in on what had happened so far. Mat nodded.

"Have the men keep together in groups. Orcs may not be as large as Trollocs, but they have numbers. And keep them out of open places. I have not forgotten the Ringwraiths." He turned to Mablung. "Have one of your men watch that crossing. The moment he even sees a raft, have him send up a signal. I will go with him."

Mablung nodded, and told off one of his men, a younger soldier with hair as pale as wheat and dark gray eyes, hard for his age. Soon they were among the rubble, almost completely hidden with Mat's elven cloak. Theoden had not believed until he saw it for himself. For all he could see, they were merely another piece of rubble. He wished he had such protection, but contented himself by getting his horse and himself under a ruined building that still had its roof. The warning about the Ringwraiths was well taken, and he would not make himself a target. It was not his style of battle, but he admitted that the strangers brought new ways, and perhaps better.

181818

Imrahil watched the gateway close, and turned to Eomer. "Who are they? One looks like a Haradrim witch."

"Indeed she does," the other prince said. "But she is no spy. With her two fellow witches, she helped destroy Saruman's army, and healed many of the wounded Rohirrim." He tapped the map one of Imrahil's men had brought. "Gandalf saw danger on the coast. Have you seen such signs?"

"Aye," the Prince said, putting aside wonder for the moment. "My men at Pelargir show ships, beating along the coast. They show the black sails of Umbar." He knew his history well, and knew they were motivated by hate as well as fear of Sauron. "Your men came to the wrong place, Prince Eomer."

"Not wrong," Eomer said. "We came to find you. You are the strongest lord along this coast. We will rid the coast, if you send all the men you can to aid the city. For such a purpose have we come."

Imrahil thought about that. "I have pigeons to send to every lord from Langstrand to Pelargir," he said finally. "We were to march to the aid of the Lord Denethor, but what of our own fiefs?"

"Your fiefs will be defended," he said. "The three women that you saw...they will come to aid us. The one who appears to be Haradrim I have asked to ride with me personally. She will not make alliance with anyone from the South. I swear it to you by the Oath of Eorl."

Imrahil was astounded, then wondered why Eomer was going to such lengths to reassure him. He felt uncomfortable when he realized the truth- that Eomer was afraid of what he might think of someone who looked like an enemy. Eomer did not know him well, then, though some of the other lords among the coast…

"If she has the blessing of Mithrandir, I will accept her," he said. "And if the other lords are angry, they shall deal with me." He was not lying when he spoke of his sway. He did not understand it, but he acknowledged it was so. He would make everyone see right. He himself did not hate Harad, only their acts against Gondor, for were they not distant kin, hailing from their shared ancestry in Numenor?

Eomer looked relieved. "They are moving the king's men to Osgiliath by another such gateway," he said. "When they have completed their task, they will come here."

"Very well," Imrahil said. "I will take all my knights to the defense of the city, as soon as your three friends come." He snapped his fingers, and his lieutenant ran back into the castle to make preparations. He had two thousand knights, and with all the other lords, there could be easily four times that number. "Perhaps they can take us to the city by their art."

Eomer shook his head. "I can ask, but they may be weary. Let us only do that if we must."

Imrahil nodded. A longer ride, perhaps, but it would be done. At the least, they would swell the defenders. He busied himself in preparations, sending out his messages and looking at maps with Eomer while his men polished their armor and sharpened their swords. It was nearly nightfall when, from the gate, he saw another hole open, and the same three women stumble through. He immediately sent men to fetch them, and soon they stood before them. Two of the three, the one dressed in blue and the other one in black, acted like royalty, and the one in red had a firm, disapproving attitude that could have passed for anger. But all three were muted by weariness.

"It is done," the one in blue said to Eomer. She sat slowly, swaying, and Imrahil rushed to have food and water brought to them. "Light! I thought it would be easier. We did the best we could, but even a few hours may be vital."

Imrahil shook his head. "Your magic has saved us much time," he said. "And given us aid. But how is it you have such skill? Were you sent from the West?"

And so unfolded the story. Imrahil was astounded. Other worlds. Eru moving to send aid. And then the war itself...and all that had already been accomplished. Eomer attested to all he had seen. "And the Ring?" he asked finally.

Moiraine shook her head. "We do not know. We hope it is still safe. It is better, though, it is not used by any of us. It corrupted Isildur. I tried to destroy it, but even then I was tempted. No...Boromir might have disagreed, perhaps, but in the end, I believe even he saw the danger."

Imrahil sighed. He had liked the Steward's son, but the Lady had read his character aright. As for meeting Galadriel, he was even more shocked. It was said that his blood had traces of the Firstborn, but to meet one who knew Amroth himself…he tried not to hide his shock.

"We can make gateways," Teslyn said, bringing to the topic back to the war. "At least for you, to move your knights to Pelargir. But we cannot afford the delay for the other lords."

"They will have to catch up," Imrahil said, knowing it for truth. "There can be no more delay, as you say. You will ride along the coast, yes, and clear it of ships?"

"We will," Eomer promised.

"Then let us rest one night. Tomorrow, we will ride, you to your errand, and us to ours." If he survived the war, and could cross the bridge between worlds, he would like to visit the lands of Moiraine and Teslyn and Tuon. Until then, he would focus on Sauron. The strangers had committed to the war. He would do no less.

181818

Loial stood guard with Galadrial, peering across the River. After the first attack, more had come, from the hidden, dark city of Dol Guldur. Galadriel had explained its history, and how Sauron had used it as a lesser fortress. Now it was filled with malice again.

Loial could almost feel the darkness in the distance. Two attacks they had beat off, but scouts expected a third. He felt strange wearing mail, but had to admit the craftmanship was exquisite. These elves, so like his own people. Holding to the past, to peace and to the future, though the story of their fading made him sad.

"It was always part of the Creator's plan," Galadrial said, noting his expression. "Though with the Ring of Water I defend my realm and people, I do not think now the Rings should have been made. It is better for men to rise, and for the Firstborn to fade."

Loial knew the elvish history, and had to agree, much as he did not like it. This was not his home. There, it was the plan for all to prosper, but the Creator could do as he wished. His sadness was mixed with fascination that so much was different.

He saw the trees across the River erupt with orcs, thousands of them, and trolls and other creatures he could not name, in far greater numbers than any he had yet seen, almost as though the dark fortress had been emptied. Grabbing his axe, he waited for the enemy to come. Orcs or the power that drove them had to know the hidden menace of Lorien, but they came anyway.

He nodded. Sadly, in this both worlds were the same. Evil did not care for its own. He looked to the left and right, and saw a line of archers. Celeborn was to the left, and Haldir, to the right. Behind him was the banner of Lorien, a silver tree on a field of black. Fitting, that.

Galadriel riased her hand and chopped it down. Hundreds of arrows flew, and the rush stumbled. A second flight came after, almost as quick as thought, then a third. Hiding behind the mallorns, Loial did not think any of them could be seen, but he gripped his axe a little tighter. And yet tighter. The orcs were swarming across the River like beetles. Part of the forest had already been burned, and for that, they should die. He snarled, feeling his anger rise.

"Come!" he muttered. "It is time to toss the dice."

181818

Thom was amazed at the city, so unlike all he had seen. It reminded him of a layer cake, or a hill of snow. Gandalf's soft words had gotten them in at the Great Gate. Now with an escort, they were climbing the levels.

It was beautiful, to be sure, but also empty. Thom noticed how many people there were for a city that size. He knew about the Kinslaying and the plague, but those had been many years ago. Did the people of Gondor multiply slowly?

Beregond, leader of the escort, seemed to notice. "Many have been sent away," he said. "And it is true, we are not a people that grow quickly."

Thom rubbed his knee. It was stiff, still, despite every Healing attempt, and climbing the levels had made it ache. Still, they had nearly arrived. When they did, he caught his breath. They had come out into a large courtyard. In the middle, men much like Beregond, dressed in black armor and helmets, guarded a dead tree. White, almost as though it had been painted, it was still a sad scene. That had to be the White Tree, the symbol of Gondor. Maybe it could revive. He certainly hoped so.

At the end of the courtyard was the entrance to the Tower itself. Here they were stopped. Beregond excused himself, going back to his duties, and other guards took over, throwing open the great iron doors.

This was a far different feel than Meduseld, the hall of Theoden. That was warm, even if it was a place of power. This was all cold stone. Statues of what Thom assumed were kings marched down either side of the hall, and at its end was the throne, empty for over a thousand years. Tall and black, it was forbidding and stark, nothing like the thrones of his own world. At its step was a simple white chair. Sitting on it was an old man, his long gray hair partly hiding his face. He sat, head bowed. This then was Denethor, Steward of Gondor.

The old man raised his head as they approached. Thom said nothing, instead examining that careworn face. Those dark eyes were sad, but also angry, and the face pinched. He noticed something he had not before- a horn, cloven in half, sitting on Denethor's lap. He recognized that horn. Schooling his face to stillness, he waited to see what would happen.

Gandalf halted, several spans from where Denethor sat, coldly examining them. "I come with news in this dark hour," he said. "Hear me!"

Denethor held up the pieces of the broken horn. "Perhaps you have come to explain this!" he said. Those eyes now held no more sadness. Now anger shone. "Perhaps you can explain why my son is dead." Thom could not blame his anger, and wondered who would speak.

"He died, protecting our company from many foes," Pippin said, kneeling. "I offer you my sword, in payment of this debt."

Gandalf appeared about to speak, but only shook his head. Still, the old Steward smiled, like the sun coming out from behind the clouds. "Did he? And what is your name, halfling?"

"Peregrin son of Paladin," Pippin said.

"I, Denethor son of Ecthelion, accept you. Do you promise to obey, in living or dying, till death take you or the world end?"

"I do," Peregrin said.

"Then I also promise to reward loyalty with honor, kindness with friendship, and betrayal with vengeance," the Steward said, his voice still cold. Thom wondered if the Steward ever laughed. He snapped his fingers, and a servant ran up. The Steward whispered in his ear, and the man looked at Pippin doubtfully before running off. Probably something about livery or armor. Thom could well remember, when he was lover to a queen, the many times she had given similar oaths. He smiled, thinking of how Peregrin would look in the armor of the Tower Guard. But Denethor was speaking again, a smile twitching at his mouth.

"My first command," he said. "To speak and not be silent." He rang a small bell, and a man entered. "Wine and cakes for me and my guest," he said. "None for Mithrandir or the man with him. Also, have one of the runners arrange a dwelling on the fifth level, where they may stay."

"As you wish, Steward," the man said.

"We will wait outside," Gandalf said to Pippin. Thom knew why. The wizard wanted his impressions of the Steward.

"He is a proud man," he said as soon as they could speak alone. "He is also cold, much more than grief can account for. He is noble, not evil, but he is all but a king in truth, and Pippin will not have an easy time of it." All that was true. "I also believe he knows much we do not see. He was not surprised to see us, though we sent no news."

Gandalf looked troubled by this. "He has a lineage from the royalty of Gondor, though it is not as high as that of the kings. Perhaps he has the discernment of his race." He did not seem to believe it, though, and Thom wondered. "Do you think he will take well what we have done with the Rohirrim?"

Thom shook his head. "He will be glad the Rohirrim come to protect his city, but he will not like that they are not under his authority. Most kings do not like foreign soldiers on their soil, even if the two countries are allied, but it is more than that. He…" Thom was troubled. All that he said was true, but there was more. He was missing it. Whatever was being hidden, it was important. "Where is Faramir, I wonder? I saw no sign of him in the city, nor here at the Tower."

"I will ask some of the guards," Gandalf said. "I am still welcome here in the city."

Thom looked at the dead tree, guarded with honor. "The people are stern and strong. They know the war has come, yet they will serve with honor. Denethor has made them so, even if he is grieving himself. He is still a great man, I think, but there is something missing I cannot see."

"I think so too." Gandalf fell silent. "I am sure you will be given leave of the city. See what you can find out." He looked eastward, and Thom followed his gaze toward the black mountains that guarded the Land of Shadow. Light! It looked a hard task, even for an army, let alone two hobbits and a woman. He also knew if Elayne were here, she would attempt it in a heartbeat. It was a fond thought, but it did not last long.

"This fume," he said. "It comes from Mordor, yes?"

"Yes," Gandalf said. "His creatures do not like the sun. Under his cloud they will march. And I cannot forget my greatest enemy, the Witch-King of Angmar, Lord of the Ringwraiths."

Thom laughed, but there was no humor in it. "If the Creator sent you back, I am sure you will prevail. Tai'shar Gondor," he said softly. "True blood of Gondor."

Soon Pippin came out. He looked wrung out. Gandalf put an arm around him. "I said nothing I should not have," he said, "but I felt he knew more than I said. I did my best, Gandalf."

"I know," Gandalf said.

"Tai'shar Shire," Thom whispered. "You did well, Pippin. At least he is reminded there is more to this world than Gondor. Which, I think, is as Gandalf intended." A guard came to lead the way to their dwelling, and Thom fell silent. Any large city had currents, even in war, and he would be the Gray Fox once more, ready to learn and do all he could to achieve victory over the Shadow.

181818

Cadsuane sat in her study, shuffling through papers, when there was a knock. Very likely one of the Sitters. News of another world could not be hidden from them, and even the Reds were interested in knowing more. So was she, in truth, the dangers as well as the blessings.

"Come," she said, and seven sitters, one for each Ajah, came in. "What is it, daughters?" she asked. They looked nervous, shuffling their feet, and Cadsuane was impatient. This was no time for lollygagging.

Finally the Red Sitter spoke. "This new world," she said. "We have done what you requested, and have selected one sister from each Ajah. They will be a scouting party, as you suggest, but they are nervous. Might you speak to them?" There was more, and Cadsuane knew it. Not so long ago, the Ajahs had been at each other's throats, and some were still nervous about anry task that crossed those old enmities. Cadsuane knew the damage the Shadow had done would take long to repair, but this would be another chance for unity. She was doing all she could, Light burn her!

"Of course," Cadsuane said, not showing all her thoughts.

She soon saw the party, all mounted. Myrelle, from the Green, her Warders standing protectively behind her. Takima, from the Gray. Seaine, from the White, and Pevara from the Red. Dagdara from the Yellow, Gabrelle from the Brown (with Logain's permission, of course), and grandmotherly Sharina from the Blue. All good choices, not just because of their strength in the Power, but also because she trusted them to work together. They were surrounded by twenty or so of the Tower Guard, the best she could find. This world was under war, after all, and the Power could not protect from everything. Standing slightly off to the side were Rand and Logain, ready to make the bridge. Rand had been unhappy about more Aes Sedai traveling to this new world, but Cadsuane had been firm they would gather knowledge only, and fight only if it was necessary, and he had acquiesced.

She made it clear to them as well. Gabrelle had the maps, drawn as well as Rand could remember and Logain had seen, and Cadsuane gave the group their instructions.

"Start in the north, by these Gray Havens," she said. "Explore every place marked on the map, except for the Dark Land, and gather samples of every plant, especially those that might be used for healing. Be wise in your dealings. Logain and Rand both speak of strange creatures." She did not have to say more. All nodded gravely, and the Warders and Tower Guard gripped the hilts of their swords.

"How long should we stay in each place?" Seaine asked. "Some might wish to stay for months." The tone did not mock, but Gabrelle flushed slightly. She _was_ Brown, and Browns wanted to know everything.

"As long as necessary," Cadsuane said. "But not so long that you become comfortable. You are not there to live, but to discover. Go, daughters, in the Light."

Pevara raised her hand. "How will we return?" It was a valid question, and not one Cadsuane wanted to ignore.

"Elayne has given me a ter'angreal that allows me to cross the void in sleep. Every week, I will enter this world, at the Gray Havens. When you have finished your explorations, return there. I will see you, and have Rand and Logain open a gateway to bring you back." The Grey Havens, because they were furthest from Mordor, and very likely the safest.

Pevara nodded. "Then we are ready."

Logain nodded, and Cadsuane felt the prickling danger that showed that he had seized the Power. Rand closed his eyes, and she saw the gateway open. She could hear gulls, and smell salt, though the wind was icy. She shivered, wrapping her cloak around her, as the Warders went through first, then motioned for their Aes Sedai to follow. Cadsuane prayed all seven sisters returned.

 **A/N: I know it sounds strange to add a Lewis and Clark type expedition, especially in a time of war, but Cadsuane is being smart here. She knows full well that people will want to go to this new world, and wants to find out more about it first. And it is a "team building exercise" that should help to further reunite the Tower.**

 **Of course Moiraine, Thom et all will have their own observations, but they are in the middle of a war. That makes it a little hard to do science. Not that anyone in Randland would call it that, but that is exactly what Cadsuane is calling for.**

 **As far as I know, all seven of the sisters listed survived the Last Battle. (Someone correct me if I am wrong.) If they did that, I am sure they can survive whatever Middle-Earth can throw at them.**

 **(And just on a personal note, if I was a woman, which I am not, and an Aes Sedai, I would be Brown, no question about it. I am like any streotypical Brown, and want to know it all.)**

 **Loial- I wanted to show both his actions and thoughts, and not neglect what is going on in the rest of Middle Earth. LOTR shows that Lorien was invaded, and he would be protective of the forests and of the elves that in many ways are like his own people. I may also put in some scenes further north, in Mirkwood and the Lonely Mountain. Perhaps from the point of the view of the expedition?**

 **Some will think Theoden is being disenginous here, and will cry that Eowyn is staying behind just because she is a woman. I don't believe Theoden thinks that. As someone he has adopted, he knows full well her capabilities in war. I think he asks her to stay back for the reasons he has stated to himself, and not because he is secretly a misogynist.**


	21. Chapter 21- First Blood

Tuon heard the cries of gulls as they rode along the seacoast. The prince she had met the night before had given all hospitality, even for someone as great as herself. She felt refreshed, and the gulls reminded her of the coasts of Seander.

Eomer rode beside her, and the other two Aes Sedai slightly behind them. Eomer knew much of what she had experienced, and she thought he was trustworthy with her thoughts. Slowly, cautiously, she spoke of damane and the a'dam and how her thoughts were changing.

Eomer frowned. "A sticky situation, highness," he said. "Yet why do you tell me this?"

"Those who are your enemies-the dark men of the south. They have their own culture and customs. You cannot see them only as servants of evil." She felt ashamed. She knew she was not perfect, but she knew what it was like to be judged and villified. She felt heat creep into her cheeks. "Perhaps there are true Darkfriends among the Haradrim. But are they all?"

Eomer fell silent. She knew he was thinking. As she did, she considered her own words. _What of marath'damane?_ a little voice said in her head. _Can you still think all of them are evil?_ She did not think so. There was the Lady Nynaeve- a queen, if her reports were true. And Queen Elayne. Both marath'damane. Both leading their nations well, almost as well as she led the Empire.

All the weight of all that she had seen, and even done herself, finally crashed home. Excusing herself, she dropped back beside the other two channelers. "Lady Moiraine," she said. "When we return to our own place, I wish a favor."

Moiraine frowned. "Yes, Empress?" she said, voice neutral.

"I am a ruler," she said. "I do not think I can go to the Tower, but...I would like to train to be an Aes Sedai. Teslyn has begun, but I wish to go to the end, to wearing the shawl and the ring. And when I return to my throne, I will take steps to free those damane who wish to be." There. It was out.

Moiraine's mouth dropped open, and even Teslyn looked startled. "I am sure we can come to an arrangement," the Blue finally said. "I will talk to Cadsuane. What changed your mind?"

So Tuon told her everything, from the time she heard sul'dam could learn to that moment. "If Nynaeve and Elayne can be queens of their nations, and yet not be leashed, logic dictates that not all Aes Sedai are dangerous." Oh, how that hurt to say! But she could no longer deny what she had been confronted with.

Teslyn nodded, understanding in her eyes. "I had my own revelation about the Asha'man," she said. "I will help you accept the truth, even as I had help."

"From that young man with the bells?" Tuon asked. She wondered at him.

"And others," Teslyn said. Suddenly she stiffened. "Look," she whispered. Along the coast, several black ships were landing, and men were pouring out. She could not see their faces, but Tuon had no doubt it was part of the enemy fleet.

"We cannot fight," Moiraine said to Eomer, who had turned. "Our oaths bind us. But we can provide a distraction." Tuon knew she was not bound by the Three Oaths, but if she was to be Aes Sedai, she should already act as though they were part of her. She had seen, or thought she had seen, Aes Sedai effect the weather itself. Perhaps something like that could be done here.

When she raised it, Moiraine nodded. "You will have to fight," she said. "But...there might be some rain. Soon. Perhaps even lightning."

Eomer nodded, understanding in his eyes. They didn't need to take all the horse, and Tuon watched as he split off some of his men. "Creep down on them," he said. "They have not seen us yet. Let us take them by surprise, and make them fear the Strawheads." His voice was bitter, mocking, and yet Tuon had said the same. His men saluted and rode off.

"Now," Moiraine said, and immediately, the light of saidar bloomed around the other woman. Tuon saw the light spring around Teslyn next. Waiting only a second, she seized it herself, and felt life fill her. She strained, feeling how women would die for such wonder.

"Bring me into the ring," she said, surrendering. Suddenly that pleasure increased ten-fold as she joined. Tuon felt the wonder, as she always did when she held the Power. And with her surrender to her fate, she felt peace and acceptance. It was almost as though the Power answered, shaping itself to her will. She had seen damane work the weaves of weather, and held them ready.

The men were nearly to the ships now, hiding among the rocks, waiting for a signal from their captain. Tuon drew on the power of the others, and released the weaves. Immediately the sky darkened, and wind whipped up among the boats, making them crash into each other. A light rain began to fall, then heavier, but only among the boats, not in the land. The pirates were fearful now, but continued to march, right into a hail of arrows.

Within minutes, the pirates on land were all dead, and Eomer's men were among the boats, making sure there was no property that needed to be rescued. _Slaves_ , the same voice said. _They are people also._ "Are there slaves among the boats?" she said.

"Some, it appears," the young prince said. "We will leave them here, with food and water. We cannot take the time to bring them with us. If we return, we will find a home for them."

Tuon nodded, feeling the urgency. Soon all was arranged. Two of the Riders had taken injury, but none had lost their lives. They were tended by Moiraine, while Tuon watched carefully, to see if she could learn the healing weaves. Light! It was like weaving carpets blindfolded. She would have to see it again before she tried it.

So they rode on. Before the day was done, two more groups of pirates had been surprised. The first had three long ships, and the second, six. The second attack cost the lives of two Riders, and injured ten. This time, it was Tuon's turn to be used as a reservoir of the Power, to augment Moiraine's failing strength. She felt the flows, and thought know she knew what was done. Moiraine promised to let her try on the next injury, if it was small enough, and she went to sleep, weary in body but content in spirit, feeling as though a great weight had been released from her shoulders.

181818

Mat rode slowly among the ruins of Osgiliath. It had once been a mighty city, nearly the equal of Shadar Logoth, and he hoped the Dunedain would have the chance to one day restore it to its beauty. Right now, though, the ruins served as good hiding places for him and his horse. He patted it gently, and hold the reins loosely in his hand, ready at a moment to ride.

Unlike Shadar Logoth, they had the element of surprise. More orcs had been spotted, but Theoden's orders held firm. Not one arrow had yet been fired, though some of the men grumbled. He grumbled himself, even knowing that the shot was too long even for his elven bow, nearly the equal of his Two Rivers longbow. The ashanderei was safely propped in the ground. All was as ready as it could be.

He could feel the tension winding tighter and tighter, like a string about to snap. There was no sound, and even light was cut off by the deepening fume, Sauron's opening move. Mentally, Mat congratulated the Dark Lord, even as he cursed his name. It was a clever gambit, giving the forces of the Shadow the darkness they craved.

Suddenly the tension was broken by vile green light, shooting up against the clouds. For a second, all stood out in stark relief. The light was followed by a long screech, starting low, but rising higher until Mat felt like putting his fingers in his ears. He felt fear fill him, and pushed it away, knowing the Ringwraiths had signalled invasion from the ruined city.

"The signal," he muttered. "Light preserve us!" The orcs knew it, too, for they suddenly released their rafts and began to swarm across the river. Still Mat waited. He was safely hidden, and did not want to reveal his position. The boats were landing now, and orcs swarmed toward the nearest ruins.

Mat chopped his hand down. The men with him, a mix of Rohirrim and Rangers, reacted instantly. Fifteen bows snapped, and fifteen orcs died. The orcs looked confused, and fifteen more arrows flew. All over the city, Mat knew other groups of men were doing the same, striking from the darkness, using Sauron's cover against him.

He knew they could not hold forever. The orcs on the eastern shore were only a small part of Mordor's force. But he would make Sauron pay dearly for ever daring to attack the White City.

Four volleys fell before the orcs began to hunt for their attackers. But Mat had planned for that as well. There were many pits in the ruined city, and his hiding place was behind one. In their haste to find the hidden menace, the orcish warriors did not watch their feet. Some forty fell into the pit, and the archers worked once more, putting them out of their misery.

More orcs were coming, more wary now, but Mat had hopes his plan would work, and that they would soak the city in orcish blood until they withdrew. He chopped his hand again, and the arrows flew once more.

181818

Damer Flinn looked out into the gloom. The island had been quiet ever since they had arrived, and that was several hours ago, or so he figured. It was now full night.

Jahar came up. "The men are dug in, as you requested, hidden by rocks and trees." Damer nodded. The younger Asha'man had fought, but Damer had been a captain in the Queen's Guards, and though he was retired, he gave suggestions that Jahar had listened to.

"No movement?" he asked the younger man. Jahar shook his head, bells tinkling softly.

"Nor can I feel Shadowspawn," he said. "If they are close, we should be able to…" he trailed off and pointed up. High above, something monstrous was crossing the moon, almost like a giant bat, but Damer knew what it must be. Damer had felt fear many times, but it was nothing to the terror that now gripped his heart.

Jahar noticed. "The look of the Eyeless is fear," he said. "The Nazgul are no different. They would take your strength from you, but you can master your fear. I did."

Damer nodded. Jahar had grown up in the Borderlands, where raids from the Blight were nearly a daily occurrence. He knew of what he spoke. Damer sought the Oneness, feeding his fear into the void, and soon tranquility returned. He sighed. Perhaps they both had things to learn from each other.

They watched as the Nazgul winged west, and soon calm returned to the island. Damer watched again, his eyes missing nothing. Jahar moved off, checking the perimeter, and was replaced by Gamling. The Rohirric warrior was grizzled, and his eyes showed the memory of an old campaigner. Damer would be glad to have him by his side.

"I don't like this quiet," Gamling said. "It is not the quiet of peace. When I was a young lad, there were birds and beasts. Perhaps it is the quiet of a land recovering from war, but…"

Damer had to agree. It was dead quiet except for the chatter of the River. He, like all who worked with the Power, had the awareness of Shadowspawn being close. But men served the Shadow, too. An ambush would not be easy to arrange, especially since he and Jahar could make a gateway to get the Rohirrim out, but it was not impossible.

"Check one more time," he said. "I feel…" suddenly there was a cry from the other side, and the sound of a horn raised in three short blasts. It was the sound of danger. The island was not large, perhaps half a league from end to end, but there were some woods. Damer moved to help, but was stopped by Gamling.

"I have seen your friend fight," he said. "And he has men with him. Wait."

Damer waited, but seized the Power, ready to unleash some nasty weaves. He was a healer first, but he could not forget his life as a soldier. He gripped his sword as well. Gamling had done the same, and was peering toward the sound.

It was good he had not moved, for his eyes caught movement from the river. Several rafts, with men, not orcs. Rough men, dressed in black, but still men. He gripped Gamling's arm and made two fingers. The other man nodded, and turned to his men, who had all dismounted. He made the same signal, and they silently climbed back into the saddle, making not even a jingle of harness. Slowly, they reached for arrows, fitting them to the string.

The men had landed now, and were creeping forward. Gamling chopped his hand down, and the men stumbled back with cries of surprise. "Take some alive," Damer said. "At least one. We will see how much he knows."

Gamling nodded and silently creapt toward an older man, dressed in somewhat finer clothes than the others. His sword came up, and Damer watched as Gamling clubbed the man with the flat of his blade. The leader went down in a heap, and Gamling dragged him behind a bush.

The men were still fighting, though most of them were down. Damer let go the Power. Just as well, really, considering that what he had been taught was not what he wanted to display. This was no Dumai's Wells, and he did not want to make it one. Unsheathing his sword, he took down the last few men.

The horns had died down on the other side of the island as well. Soon Jahar popped through a gateway. He grimaced when he saw what had happened. "We surprised them, but I think there were more on our side than yours. There were some Uruks, too. They don't die easily."

"Do you need Healing?" Damer asked, seeing the blood on him.

"No," the younger man said. "But some of the Rohirrim do. Ten or so, maybe, no more. The rest have small cuts only, or bruises that do not need your aid."

"Were any shot by arrows?" Gamling said, suddenly sounding concerned. "Some orcs use poisoned arrows."

Jahar looked concerned. "I don't know," he said. "I didn't see everyone who fought. Is the poison fast acting?"

"Over several hours," Gamling said. "But the sooner, the better. We have herbs, but…"

Damer nodded. He had seen a Halfman's wound before, and he doubted orcish poison was better. He ripped space to open a gateway. Jahar had not been lying, and he stayed busy for quite some time, both in healing, and in questioning the prisoner. He did not talk easily, but what he finally said filled him and Gamling with alarm.

"We need more men," the Rohirrim captain said at last. Damer could only agree.

181818

Perrin could still feel the Dead, even though he could not see them. After Aragorn claimed their allegiance, they had ridden almost day and night, driven by Aragorn's worry for the White City. He had asked about the Aes Sedai, and was told they were patrolling the coast, but that the main fleet of corsairs was beating up the great bay of Belfalas toward Pelargir. They had to be stopped there, or they would bring the fierce Haradrim to destroy Gondor.

"Hurry, Graegwind," Perrin urged his mount. He could feel his horse's weariness, and was afraid of riding him to death, but he felt at that moment the same as he had so long ago, when he had been chased out of Emond's Field. This too was a race to the death. "Hurry." His horse whinnied and responded, adding speed.

"King of Horses, indeed," Perrin murmured in thanks. The others were indistinct around him, for black night had fallen. He knew the sons of Elrond rode in the back, still carrying the banner of the King, and that Aragorn rode in front, his kinsmen beside him. He still didn't know what to make of the Dunedain, but accepted their strength and grim nobility.

He sniffed suddenly. "Smoke," he said. "How far are we, Legolas?"

The elf was silent for a minute, as though thinking. "Several leagues," he said. "You have a keen nose, Perrin."

Perrin felt grim. So there was already battle. His horse, as though feeling his rider's urgency, added still more speed. All around him, other horses were doing the same. The Dead swirled up around them. Perrin knew they could easily outpace the living, but held back at their lord's command.

Perrin shut his eyes for a moment, and caught a flash. Green and brown robes, tattered with age. Old men and young, all strong, wielding swords and axes. And at their head, a man on a horse, crowned with a flickering golden circlet. He opened his eyes, and the vision was gone, but he had no doubt he had seen the unseen host as they really were.

He let Legolas know, and the elf nodded. "I see the same. A tyrant Aragorn would be, if he carried the Ring, and commanded the Dead with its power. But his might is more noble than the malice of Sauron."

Perrin had no words for that, but he nodded agreement. The smell of smoke continued to grow stronger, and soon they came over a rise to see a burning city, its docks and quays aflame. Where the people were, Perrin did not know. His sharp eyes saw no refugees. He was thankful that at least, they had all made it out before the attack.

He also saw the enemy fleet, and growled low in his throat. There were some thirty ships, long and low, easily the size of anything the Seanchan could produce, made for oars rather than wind. Men were scrambling over them, all dressed in black, while more ran through the city, torches in hand, firing whatever would burn.

Aragorn stiffened, and Perrin could almost feel what he felt- his people, his city, under attack. He also heard the king of the Dead speak. "Let us fight. Let us fulfill our oath."

"Deliver the city, and I will count your oath fulfilled." Aragorn's voice was sure and strong, the command of a king. "Deliver the city, and I will release you."

Down swept the Dead. Perrin wanted to join them, but refrained. This was their battle, not his. Instantly, he saw the nature of the attack change. The men began to withdraw, pulling back to the boats. Then it seemed as though they just fell dead, wherever they were. Perrin watched, slackjawed, as the invasion simply stopped. When no more men moved among the city, Aragorn shouted something in Elvish.

There was a sigh, and Perrin could almost feel the relief in the air. Then the presence of the Dead simply...faded away. He strained, even when he was sure they were gone, and finally realized that after three thousand years, the men under the Mountain had finally found rest.

181818

Faile wondered if Gollum would reappear, but he did not. So on they went, tracing their way along the old north-south road toward the crossroads and the path to the haunted city.

The green was still vibrant, and Faile was thankful. Spring was beginning to come to this southern land, and she rejoiced. There was more chances for rabbit and for herbs, and Frodo seemed to recover much of his good humor, even though the shroud of darkness crept down from the mountains.

Faile thought of her husband, so far away. She knew his mind. What would he think of this fume of Sauron, this darkness that seemed to suck out all hope? She felt it trying to creep into her soul, but she shook her head often and repeated the Aiel chant often. So did Sam and Frodo, finding strength in the stories of the fierce, noble desert warriors. Faile even told of her embarrassment with Rhuarc, when he had snatched her knives as easily as taking yarn from a kitten. Sam and Frodo had laughed till tears came from their eyes, and it gladdened Faile's own heart.

Four days brought them to the cross-roads, a great empty space. A great gulf stood up in the mountains, dark and grim, the way they were to take, and from it, the road ran down to the River, faintly twinkling in the gloom. To the south, the road ran on. Faile really, really did not want to take the road into the mountains. She had heard enough from Gandalf and Aragorn. She turned toward it anyway, and as she did, she saw something that caught her breath.

Some long-forgotten king had been carved and placed on a pedestal to the east. Covered with foul orcish runes as it was, it still carried a sad nobility. The head, lying to the side, had an image of the Eye on it, carelessly painted in red ink. But atop it, there was a crown of flowers, the white simbelmyne that never died. The beauty smote at her, and the knowledge evil could never fully win.

Sam followed her gaze. "Look, your majesty! The king has a crown again!"

"They cannot conquer forever!" Faile said. "Had I the strength, I would raise the king's head back into his shoulders. One day, it will be."

Heartened now, she led the way onto road east. It began to climb up at once, and the shadows drew down around them. Lost in a vast, threatening darkness, they passed away and were lost to view.

A/N: This is a transitional chapter. I am establishing the plot lines, and will focus on all of them in turn. Enjoy the breather, it is about to get much more intense.

Why did I include Faile and Frodo when they don't actually fight? Because they do, in a very real moral sense. LOTR makes the point that battles are not always won by force, but by sacrifice and moral fortitude. A hobbit succeeded where even an incarnate angel (Gandalf) could not. The fact they realize the futility of evil will serve them well in the times to come- if they can hold on to that conviction even at the worst.


	22. Chapter 22- Shadows Breaking

Thom felt as though he was getting too old for politics. He had to meet with this Steward, and convince him that there were other realms besides Gondor. Not an easy task, as he stared at Denethor's grim face. Pippin, looking out of his element, stood beside the Steward.

"So your wife is a sorcerer," Denethor said. "A witch. I have seen much. I know who rides with you and the Grey Pilgrim."

Thom felt his hackles rise. He had not mentioned that fact to the Steward. Denethor was far-seeing, but stubborn, and not appreciative of Rohan's aid. Thom had known many such nobles- but standing next to Aragorn and even Boromir, it was a shock to see such insolence in Middle Earth.

"Your allies are fulfilling their oath, Lord Denethor," Thom said. "And because of my wife's work, we have taken the Enemy by surprise. Does that not please you? And your son accepted my wife and her sisters."

Denethor shifted. Boromir's split horn lay on a plinth by Denethor's chair. "Your son was a great man," Thom continued. "He was noble and wise, and no wizard's pupil. Faramir also-"

"Do not speak of my sons as though you know them," Denethor interrupted. "Boromir would have brought me a mighty gift, instead of throwing away our hope." Thom knew of what Denethor spoke. Or thought he did. He, too, had been tempted by the Ring. He, too, had firmly put the temptation away.

Thom shifted the conversation. He wished to say what he really thought of Denethor's words, but Gandalf wanted the Steward's authority in the coming war. He could not afford to alienate someone so powerful. And Denethor was powerful. Apart from his nobility, he saw deeper than almost anyone he had yet met in this strange world. Thom felt like a fox in a den of wolves. It was not a pleasant feeling.

"And Rohan? Yes, we did not report our arrival, but there was no time." Had he shifted only a little, he could see the smoke rising from the ruins of Osgiliath. "As it is, we hold off the assault by a hair. Your son is among the defenders. Your only son. Your know your realm, Lord Steward, and it is not my place to advise you. I merely come as someone who wants to see your kingdom remain strong."

Denethor's face twisted, with pain or anger, Thom could not tell. "I see the battle," the Steward said. "And I am grateful for Rohan's aid. It is those who ride with them that I do not care for. I see Gandalf's mind. With one hand, he would give aid, and with the other, he would bring an upstart Ranger to supplant me."

So. It was out. If Denethor would speak so openly, so would he. "Aragorn will press no claim until Sauron is defeated," he said. "He will not become a tyrant. As for Gandalf, he is a steward also. He must take thought for the Age to come."

"As long as I sit in this chair, I will not accept someone from the line of Elendil, a ragged house bereft of lordship." Denethor's voice was grim. "Faramir may become a wizard's pupil. I will not, Thom Merrilin." It was as clear a dismissal as Thom had ever heard.

"Then I will take my leave," Thom said, bowing graciously. "Gandalf will want to hear this news." Gandalf would, but Thom's instructions were clear. If the Steward would not listen, he would go to the captains and outland lords that were in the city. Also...he suspected some poison in Denethor's mind. The man who had spoken now was not the man that Aragorn and Gandalf had spoken of with such respect.

Denethor waved at him, and Thom left. The battle lines had been drawn. Fortunately, he ran into Imrahil as soon as he left the White Tower. Imrahil nodded to Thom. "Your wife is well, or was when last we met. What did Denethor say?"

"He wants you in the City," Thom said. "He will not release you to harry the enemy. Also...he will not listen to Gandalf. I fear...I fear his mind is poisoned. Even if he does not accept Gandalf, he should respect the line of the kings. And he sits while his soldiers die. This is not the behavior of a ruler."

"Even if he does not, I respect both Elendil and Gandalf." Imrahil's voice was quiet. "I too suspect the influence of Sauron. I will speak to the other lords. Perhaps a way can be found."

"Thank you. I am not of your people, and my influence is small. I had hoped...but perhaps it was a fool's hope." As they parted ways, Thom thought over what he had seen. Grief, yes, but grief should not lead to such blindness. All the men he had met were noble men. He saw no Wormtongues here in the White City. What else could affect Denethor's mind so?

Hurrying to the fifth level, he found Gandalf at the dwelling set aside for them. He was looking out to the East. "It did not go well?" the wizard said without turning.

Thom told of what had been said, and of his suspicions. Gandalf turned, and Thom was struck by the grief and love in those eyes. "Find Beregond. He often sees the Steward. We must know what he has seen these last weeks. I believe there lies the answer."

As Thom hurried back out, he almost felt time squeezing on him. He felt as though even hours could tip the balance of the war, and every decision carried far-reaching consequences. Frodo and Sam had the greatest battle, but if they returned only to find Gondor overthrown, all would be for naught. Bad knee or not, the thought made Thom walk very fast.

181818

Mat called for the retreat. His mixed group had been cut in half, but they had taken scores of the enemy with them. Faramir panted up beside him. "This plan had the grace of the Valar," he said. "Never have I seen such a defense. But Mordor is emptied, and we do not have the strength left to overcome such a host."

Mat admired the other man, and had to admit he was right. "Fall back slowly," he said. "Once we are outside the ruins, it will be a running battle, and we will have to contend with the Nazgul." He had felt their terror slowly growing even as Sauron's fume thickened. He had experienced Myrdraal, and so had little fear, but he still felt their foul influence. "Watch the skies."

Faramir nodded and left, calling for his men with whistles and bircalls. Mat nodded to his own men, and they began a slow withdrawal, pulling back through the ruins, taking as much cover as possible. He himself watched the skies, ready to give notice of any attack from the air.

Soon they broke out of the city, but the attack he expected did not come. He could see the Ringwraiths, like monstrous bats, circling the ruined city, but they did not swoop down. Mat supposed a stray arrow could kill the flying beasts, as easily as one could kill a Fade. In fact, he was sure that had been what he had hit, so long ago on the Great River.

"Stay together," he told his group. It had grown and then waned as the attack was pressed. Some fifty men clung around him. "Do not separate until we are behind the city walls."

The men nodded, though they looked terrified. At least they understood command. Slowly, they began to ride back, giving ground yard by yard, creeping toward the city, holding together tightly, bows pointed in every direction. Mat almost thought of them as a hedgehog, every spine out.

It was a good thing, too, for though the orcs were not following, he could see them on the edges of the ruins. The Ringwraiths were circling lower, too, their cries louder. "Hold together!" Mat shouted above the din. "Hold, burn you!" And they held. He could see Faramir's group nearby, and Tam's and Theoden's also, holding together, but the other groups were scattered, fleeing wildly. Down swept the Ringwraiths at last.

It was a horrible sight. The great, stinking beasts rose up, horses and men in their grip, to drop them to their deaths. Mat wanted to fire, but the beasts were too quick, darting in and out of firing range like shadows. "Hold!" he said to the wide-eyed men. Still they held. He was glad. They were no Band of the Red Hand, but they were still valiant.

The city walls were drawing closer, but Mat did not know how long they could make it. Suddenly, like a bolt of lightning, there was another player on the field. It was Gandalf, riding on Shadowfax. As in the hall of Rohan, his robes were thrown back, revealing his power. His staff outstretched, he chanted, and a beam of light shot into the air toward the Ringwraiths. The beasts swerved away, shocked by the light. Again Gandalf chanted, and again light came from him, stabbing into the air. The Ringwraiths flew away, back toward the ruined city, and Mat gave a sigh of relief.

Gandalf rode up beside him. His light was veiled again, but he smiled. "I came as soon as I saw the Nazgul," he said.

Mat knew that was true. "Let us make it into the city," he said. "We can talk more then."

"I have a dwelling on the fifth level, though I am sure that the Steward wants your report of the battle. Let me escort you, Theoden, Faramir and Tam to the White Tower."

Mat nodded, and they chatted as they rode through the levels. Many of the people looked at him as though he was an outland lord. He was willing to be accepted as such. Tam as well. Some of the older soldiers nodded at Theoden. Mat expected it. They had probably met. Gandalf received a mix of looks. Respect, but also anger. Much like any Aes Sedai, he supposed.

He was amazed at the White Tower. Much like the White Tower in his world, it dominated the city. Before it was a white tree, seeming to be dead, guarded in honor. Faramir bent his head as he passed.

Statues of ancient kings greeted Mat as he walked into the Merethrond. It was a cold hall, and he felt the chill as he approached the chair on which the Steward sat. Denethor raised his eyes, and Mat felt as though he had been stabbed with ice. Those eyes were hard, like Lan's, or Rand's before the end.

"So," he said. "The lords from other worlds, and my ally, King Theoden. Tell me of the battle."

So Mat did, telling of the gateways and of the ambush he and Theoden had worked out between them. "We did our best, Lord Steward, but blood and ashes, Mordor is powerful. We would have been overrun, had we not retreated. I believe you will still need our aid." He was polite, though he wondered why only Gandalf had ridden out to help them.

"Let me speak to my son," Denethor said. He gave no indication as to what he thought. Even his eyes never changed. Mat shivered again. "Go now. I will call you if I have need of you. Theoden, I gave your men leave to camp outside the city. I know you do not like to be trapped behind walls of stone." The tone was faintly mocking, and Theoden bowed stiffly before he left.

Mat thought he saw Pippin, but he couldn't be sure. Then he left Denethor's chamber.

"I thought that Theoden and Denethor had alliance," Mat said. "Theoden was not treated well. Light, he was dismissed as a begger!" He was appalled. He didn't like nobles at the best of times, but they still deserved respect.

Gandalf sighed. "He is under stress that most kings do not know. His very country is threatened with annihilation. And there is more that I suspect." Swiftly he told Mat of his suspicions.

"A Palantir?" Mat said. "Light! Aragorn barely survived the meeting, and he is the rightful king." Tuon had told him of the encounter. It was one of the few times that he had seen her scared. For this steward to have another...

"How else did he know that Thom's wife was an Aes Sedai? I said nothing, nor did he. Nor did Pippin. I asked." Gandalf's tone was sharp. "The Seeing Stones cannot lie, but if Sauron selects what information he sees, stress will be added to his mind."

"And he won't allow a healer to touch him, I don't think." Mat sighed. Sauron was trying the old Aes Sedai trick of making truth dance on its head, and the consequences could be fatal. "Could we take the Stone from him?"

"It rightfully sits in Minis Tirith," Gandalf said. "There it must stay, but perhaps the Prince could take possession. I will speak to him. Though Denethor will not see my face, I can still go to the meetings of the lords."

"What should I do in the meantime?" Mat said.

"Rest and wait. The pieces are all moving, and it is the deep breath before the plunge. I will see if I can bring you to the meetings. Your gift of war will prove useful. Tam, also, as he was also a captain."

Mat nodded. Rest...he went to the window and looked out. Over the line of the River, he saw the dark mountains of Mordor. From there, an army would come that had one purpose- to destroy the world of men. He tried to rest, but sleep was long in coming, and when it did, it was far from peaceful.

181818

Perrin held onto a mast as the boat swayed. They had found the refugees from Pelargir, and Aragorn had set the local lord and his men to repairs. The slaves had been freed, and willingly served, while each of the Dunedain commandeered a ship. All the work had been done in haste, and now they were beating up the river.

"I wish I had one of the Aes Sedai with us," Perrin muttered to Aragorn. "They know how to work weather, and we would be at the city twice as fast."

"Perhaps not," Aragorn countered. "This weather is a fume of Sauron's, and only a greater power can defeat it. Can they go against a spirit and prevail?"

Perrin shook his head. He knew of only one who had- Rand himself, and he would not involve himself in this war. He knew of the Valar, of course- he had read books in Rivendell, but it seemed the Valar also kept their hands out of the world. Or did they? Was it his imagination, or was the fume lightening?

"Look!" he said. Aragorn looked and smiled.

"The Valar shine on us," he said. "Manwe clears the air. And the wind is beginning to turn to the South. We will be driven up the river by the wind."

Perrin smiled, but then caught a stink. As the hours passed, the weather began to clear, but the stink began to grow. It was as when he had faced Shadowspawn before, and he knew he smelt the army that wanted to crush Minis Tirith. He hoped they would be in time.

He saw the mountains approach, then grow clearer. He saw the city begin to take shape, and it was beautiful, seven levels of splendor. But it was a city aflame. The lower two levels were burning, and the plain was swarming with black shapes. Perrin rubbed his nose.

"The city has not fallen yet," Aragorn said as they saw the landings approach. "Come. It is time! Elladin, Elrohir, raise my banner." The sons of Elrond unwound it and raised it on the mast, and it streamed out in the wind. Perrin looked in awe. It was black, but on it, the silver tree of Gondor caught the sun, sparkling in the sudden sun.

Orcs were along the landing, and they spat. "About time you came, you dunghill rats," their leader snarled. Perrin gripped his axe and looked at Gimli, who wore a scowl. The dwarf raised his axe threateningly, but waited for the signal from Aragorn. He nodded, and Perrin vaulted the rail, the dwarf only a heartbeat behind him. The orc's eyes widened in surprise. It was the last expression they ever made.

Perrin laid about him, but he was looking at the shape of the battlefield. Away up north, next to the city, he saw the Rohirrim fighting what looked like giant s'redit, while closer, a company of knights in gray armor and winged helmets fought orcs. To the east, down by the ruined city, men on foot fought trolls and strange men dressed in scarlet and gold that had to be the Haradrim.

An orc came up, and Perrin's axe took it at the neck. His horse was beside him, and he swung onto it, uncasing his bow in one smooth motion and drawing an arrow. He would help the knights first, then face the next challenge. Slowly, step by step, he fought his way over to their company. The leader, a man with sea-gray eyes, welcomed Perrin as a companion of Aragorn, and was soon impressed by the way he fought.

181818

Gabrelle wrapped her cloak tightly around her. It was not cold, exactly, but neither was it warm. She waited, taking notes on the beautiful architecture around her, while Pevara questioned a tall elf. So the people of these havens called themselves.

Pevara nodded. "The lord of these people, Cirdan, is up in the Tower. This elf, Naerwin, will take us there." She pointed to a tower made of white stone, standing on a rocky outcrop above the city.

Gabrelle rubbed her hands. Pevara had taken charge of the expedition, and Gabrelle had no complaints about that. She was stronger in the Power, and older as well. And she had the authority that most respected. Gabrelle herself was not weak, but she was still recovering her senses. She could not feel Logain at all. It was as though he did not exist. The warmth of the Power here could only partly make up for that.

She had asked Logain if he would not come, but he had shaken his head. "I lead the Black Tower now. I cannot afford to be gone for the months it would take to explore this new world." Which Gabrelle admitted made sense.

Takima rode beside her. The short Gray seemed at ease. "These people have seen war," she said. "But they are not warlike themselves. Not that I see. Nor do they practice deception. And their wisdom! Look at their eyes, Gabrelle." Gabrelle looked. Takima was right. She did not think even the eldest of the Aes Sedai had seen so much.

Gabrelle sighed. A warm fire would not be amiss. Though the trick of ignoring weather still worked, she could still feel her skin pebbling. And she was excited to meet this first lord.

Cirdan was grave as Pevara explained why they had come. He had not seen any of those who had disappeared, but one of the other elves, Galadriel, had spoken of strangers in her woods, and the descriptions sounded like those who had gone missing. He was eager to share his knowledge as well, and though he did not call himself a king, his tall bearing and wise manner spoke of royalty. Gabrelle, at least, had to suppress the urge to bow. It was an odd feeling. Normally, it was the other way around.

Immortals! That fact had shocked her. No wonder the elves looked so wise, if they had existed since the beginning of the world. Soon Gabrelle was poring over the records, while Takima asked about the elven politics and Pevara asked about their abilities and the gift of immortality. Dagdara was discovering new herbs, and Myrelle was out with her Warders, seeing what the land was like around the Havens. Seaine was with her, looking over records collected for thousands of years, and Sharina was closeted with Cirdan, most likely asking about elven family life.

What discoveries! To discover a whole new race was unprecedented, and Gabrelle had already seen that there would be at least two more- the stubborn dwarves and the peace-loving hobbits. She was not sure she wanted to meet the trolls or the corrupt orcs, but if one could be bound with the Power…

Seaine tapped her on the shoulder, bringing her out of her study. The White was yawning. "Gabrelle, it is past midnight. Cirdan has given us a large room where we can all sleep. He thinks it is wise for us to all be together, and it is logical. We are strangers here, and we can compare what we have learned so far."

Gabrelle nodded, rolling up the scroll she had been studying. With the help of an elvish interpreter, she was learning about elvish history. Takima was right they did not practice war, not now. But they had. Oh, how they had. Gabrelle wondered what it would be like to carry those memories for all eternity, and suppressed a shiver.

Handing the scroll back to the clerk in charge of the library, she went to the room appointed for them. Seven beds were set in a semicircle facing a fireplace, each with a coverlet in the colors of their Ajah. Gabrelle was amused to see the red in the middle. Cirdan had been studying them as well, it seemed, and had pegged Pevara for the leader.

All the others were there but Myrelle, but she soon appeared, shaking moisture from her cloak, her Warders behind her. "I was caught in a rainstorm," she said. "Not a bad one, but this weather is colder than what I am used to." She saw the arrangement and laughed, then opened up a door to reveal another room, furnished with enough beds for all the Warders. Her Warders disappeared inside, taking the other men with them.

Gabrelle opened up a new page in her travel notebook, and dipped her pen in the ink. Her eyes were grainy, but she wanted to at least collect the initial thoughts of the others. She was surprised at the revelations, and at Pevara's request, brought out the map. After a short debate, it was agreed they would stay several more days to learn more, then ride to the dwarf mines in the Blue Mountains, not far from where they now were.

"We have made a good start," Pevara said. "The Amyrlin chose wisely where to send us first, and with the grace of the Light, we will do as well at each place we visit." Gabrelle could only agree.

181818

Moiraine winced as she felt Thom's frustration and anger. It had been growing day by day. When she came to the city, she would help to soothe him. She herself felt calm serenity. The landscape, all beautiful hills and seascapes, helped to soothe her, but also the relative ease of their task.

Every day, they surprised more of the invaders, but there were never so many that Eomer's men were in real danger. Moiraine helped as well, creating distractions and diversions, even though the Oaths kept her from fighting directly. They were not Shadowspawn, just men deceived.

Even greater was the thrill of Tuon's revelation and confession. Moiraine did not have the authority of the Amyrlin, but she did what had for Egwene and Nynaeve, starting the Empress on her way and setting more complex exercises than what she had yet tried. Teslyn had made a good beginning, and Tuon was now an eager student, soaking up the knowledge quickly. Eventually, she would have to take the testing to become Accepted and a full sister, but Moiraine had no doubt Cadsuane would welcome a changed Seanchan.

Five days thus passed, and soon they reached Pelargir. The city was in ruins, but there were signs of rebuilding, and Moiraine was pleased to hear that Aragorn had been there and gone, defeating the main force of Umbar with the Dead and setting free the slaves they had chained. She was also glad to see the clearing fume, a sign that the powers above also opposed Sauron.

Eomer had them spend the night there, to rest the horses and men, then led them toward the city. It was fifty leagues to travel, and even with horses, would take at least two days. Moiraine felt the urge to move faster, but she knew the horses needed to be preserved. Slowly, the smell of salt faded, and the mountains in the distance grew clearer and sharper. She could well believe the love that the people of Gondor had for their land. At the end of the mountains was one great peak, Mount Mindolluin that sheltered the White City.

"I feel Shadowspawn," Moiraine said as they approached. "The attack has begun. All we have done is a diversion."

"Not so, Aes Sedai," Eomer said. "We have cleared the coast. The lords of the coast would not have ridden to the White City without our aid. It could be that they hold the city, and keep it from falling."

Moiraine had to concede the point, but she still felt as though they had the minor part of the battle. Soon enough they approached the wall, the Rammas that surrounded the inner fields of Gondor. It had been breached at many points, and Moiraine could see the army filling the Pelennor, orcs and trolls and other, worse things. She could feel the Nazgul, too, terrifying in their full power.

Moiraine nodded at the other two, and soon they were linked. She nodded at Eomer, and he turned to the men. "Now is the time. Fulfill your oaths, for league and friendship! Forward, children of Eorl!" And so saying, he rode through the gap, the Aes Sedai but a beat behind.

Moiraine led the circle, drawing on the strength of the others and the an'greal she always wore. That torrent of Power went into fireballs and arrows of light, weaves of earth erupting from the ground to toss Shadowspawn like straw. She was the Tower, defending those that could not be defended. Around her, the Rohirrim swirled, arrows mingling with fire. The orcs tried to retreat in terror, but the vengeful Rohirrim gave no chance.

"I must find my uncle," Eomer shouted about the din. "He will need my aid!" He fought toward the north, where the bridge came from the ruined city. The Rohirrim followed, and Moiraine came also, still releasing fire from her fingertips. She was the storm! Deeper still she drew, until she tingled, feeling the sweetness grow toward pain. Holding herself at her limit, she cleared a road. She knew she was a living legend, but nothing like that of Egwene al'Vere, and she felt respect for the child Amyrlin that had been far from a child.

Suddenly she felt Tuon's shock. Looking up, she felt the blood drain from her own face. Tuon had told her of s'redit. This was different. These were gray clad hills. The Rohirrim had ridden through the footmen of orcs, but before the great beasts, horses quailed. Her own horse reared up, and she wove a weave to settle it. She was growing tired, but she would not stop. Raising her hands, she shot fire at the great beasts. Three of the beasts quailed back, trampling toward each other and colliding. Their tusks did what arrows could not do...they gored each other, falling on each other with a crash that shook the ground.

"Shoot for the eyes," Tuon shouted. Moiraine wondered if Eomer, or any of the men, heard her, but her doubts were proved in vain when the archers adjusted their aim, daring to ride under the great legs and tusks to get a shot. She whistled. The bravery of the Rohirrim was no less than the bravery of Manetheren. "Tai'shar Rohan," she whispered.

Suddenly she felt part of the link wink out. She looked around, and saw Teslyn clutching her arm, and the arrow that had gone clean through and was sticking out the other side. It was barbed, too. Releasing the circle, she nodded to Eomer, pointing to Teslyn.

Eomer nodded back, and shouted commands. Immediately, a circle of knights, some fifty in all, surrounded them, while the rest of the horse rode on. Teslyn looked pale, and the wound looked puffy. Moiraine wondered if the arrow was poisoned. She had been told that the Haradrim used poisoned arrows. Carefully, the knights helped Teslyn from her horse, laying down their cloaks to make a cushion on the ground.

Tuon frowned. "I do not like this," she said. "You are already weary from the fight."

For the first time, Moiraine remembered the ring Galadriel had given her. It might help. "Bring your necklace," she said. "Lay it on the wound. I am going to try something."

Tuon took off her necklace and laid it on the wound. Seizing the Power once more, Moiraine channeled through the ring, and then through the necklace into the wound. Immediately, she hit darkness, a festering growth that was already into Teslyn's shoulder. So, not from the Haradrim, but the Ringwraiths. She pushed harder, and felt the Power combine with the light of the elves, a double blow that blasted away the darkness.

Teslyn sat up, gasping. "I could feel the darkness seeping into me. It was cold, like the Dark One himself. What did you do?"

Moiraine explained what she had done, and Teslyn nodded. "The Lady of Light's gifts still serve."

"We must still pull the arrow, however." Teslyn nodded. One of the Rohirrim brought a stick, and Teslyn bit down. Moiraine held the weave for Healing, ready to apply it as soon as the arrow was pulled. Tuon looked doubtful, but put her hand on the arrow when Moiraine nodded. It came out in a spray of blood, and Moiraine wove together Healing. Teslyn arched her back, only her head and heels touching the ground, her eyes wide as muscle and skin were replaced. She lay pale when it was done. Moiraine didn't feel much better.

The Rohirrim around her murmured in awe, and their leader, a tall man with nearly black hair, looked almost reverant. Moiraine spoke to him as briskly as she could manage. "Is there safety around the city?"

The commander nodded. "Yes, Lady. We can take you under the safety of the walls. The gates are attacked, but the walls themselves are still safe." He helped to lift her up on her horse, and made a stretcher for Teslyn behind her horse. He offered help to Tuon, also, but she mounted smoothly.

Through her weariness, Moiraine could feel Thom's concern for her. He was in danger, though, himself, probably fighting in the city, moving toward her every second. They would find each other, soon or late, and she would be glad to see him.

181818

Pippin wished he had never offered to serve the Steward. He was an unsmiling man, who cared little for the songs and stories of the Shire. And as the days passed and the siege progressed, his mood grew even grimmer. His meeting with Faramir had not gone well, though Pippin's spirits were lifted at the fact that Frodo and Sam were still alive.

It was soon depressed again by the fume of war, and Denethor's command to try and retake Osgiliath. Faramir had pleaded, but Denethor had overruled him, and nearly disowned him in the process. Pippin didn't like the words that had been spoken, and Denethor said coldly that much had to be risked in war.

Only some hours later, Faramir had come back in, on a stretcher. The men with him frowned in disapproval, and Prince Imrahil, who was with the party, looked downright angry. "I have spoken to the other lords," he said. "Have you been looking in the palantir of the Tower?"

Pippin waited for the explosion, but Denethor merely shrugged. "I must see the threats that face my people," he said. "What else would you have me do?" He stared at his son, and Pippin could see the love and torment in his face.

Prince Imrahil nodded, and three of his knights came and held Denethor. "You have been twisted by your pride, and twisted by your love. In your pride, you thought you could do what not even Gandalf tried, and in your love, you used your sons. We do not wish to exile you, but we must relieve you from leadership until you recover your nobility."

Denethor spluttered, but Pippin sighed in relief. He saw other lords coming in, men he did not know, all grim of face. The prince kept speaking. "You come very close to treason, Denethor, by not allowing us to defend the city that we love, and by using the Rohirrim in this way. It is time for you to step down. I will hold the city until the king comes, and the other lords will advise me. I would like it to be done gracefully, but I will remove you if I must."

Pippin slowly drew back. If there was violence, he wanted no part. Denethor looked around, his face angry, but there were too many for him to fight. Slowly, he lowered his rod of office and placed in on the chair on which he sat. "I give up my office, Prince Imrahil," he said. "May you do better than I. Will you take my son to the Houses of Healing? I will stay with him, and hope he wakes." His voice caught, and Pippin finally knew- he did love Faramir, though it had taken a tragedy for him to see it.

Imrahil looked just as grieved, and motioned for it to be done. Denethor walked out, his back straight, following his son's body.

The Prince then turned to Pippin. "You swore an oath to Denethor. I know how it was done, and why. It is not an oath from which I can release you. Serve him still, halfling, and let us hope that he recovers his senses."

Pippin nodded and bowed. "Did you think that it would come to this?" he said.

"I did not," the Prince said. "But evil crept into the very heart of the city, and now we must remove it. Go, do your duty, and we will do ours."

 **A/N: I wanted to show some of Denethor's nobility. He comes off a jerk in the books, which is explained by the influence of Sauron through the Palantir. I still believe, however, that not all of his great wisdom and power was lost in his final days. I do think he would have withdrawn gracefully upon hearing (and seeing) what his own decisions had cost him.**

 **Tuon will just grow more awesome as time goes on. With the decisions she has made, she will grow to be a great Empress. I always liked her in the main WOT story, even with the issue of da'mane. And her necklace was always meant to be more than pretty. Galadriel does see far, after all.**

 **I was reminded that Gabrelle was not the only one separated. Pevara was bound to Androl, and both Flinn and Narishma were separated from their Aes Sedai (Corele and Merise, respectively). I take that as an authorial gaffe, and ask forgiveness, since I gave POVs from both Asha'man and did not show their thoughts at the bond being temporarily separated. I will try and make up for that.**

 **If there is anything else you see, please let me know! Thank you very much for correcting my errors, I really appreciate it!**


	23. Chapter 23- To Breathe Again

Gandalf had heard and seen all. With his new sight, he saw Denethor's nobility and Mat's courage. He also saw the siege of the White City, and took up Glamdring to defend it. With Imrahil, he was there wherever the fighting was hottest.

Pippin knelt in front of him, after the second day of the siege. "Gandalf, Denethor sent me away. He sits with his son, and does not want my company. Can you heal him? He was not a kind man to me, but…"

Gandalf wanted to go, but he shook his head. The wisdom learned over 300 lives of men told him that it was not to be, that healing was no longer his part. It felt strange, really. He had been a steward, but he felt his role fading away, toward the dominion of men. He had seen the future, the small kingdoms growing into the powers that Mat and Thom and Moiraine knew. This was their time now.

He said none of that to Pippin, but held his thoughts. "No," he said simply. "That is no longer my part. The healers are skilled, and they will do all they can. Come, ride with me. Let us see the battle." Swinging Pippin up on Shadowfax, he rode for the lower levels. Hundreds of men stood respectfully as they passed. They knew his influence had helped bring the Steward back to himself.

Down they rode, and soon Gandalf could see the second level was on fire. So the first level was overrun. Feeling power in him, he drew the glittering blade that had smote so many goblins. It was blue once more, and Pippin drew his own blade.

Orcs were swarming through the lower level, smiting all in their path. Gandalf hated the foul orcs, miserable creatures knowing nothing but death and destruction. He lay about him, his staff cracking heads and his sword stabbing. He could feel Pippin behind him, his short sword serving him well. They met the Prince on the gate to the second level, holding it with his knights.

"Mithrander," Imrahil said. "And Master Peregrin." His tone was just as respectful to Pippin as it was to him, and Gandalf was glad. Here was a man that did not hold the small people in contempt. "We have need of both your swords."

"Then let us fight with you," Gandalf said. Taking the lead, the Prince beside him, he carved a path toward the Great Gate, now a twisted ruin. The knights rode out, their eyes afire with vengeance for their beloved city, and through the gates into the Pelennor. Eomer's men had come, and were challenging the hosts of Mordor. Out by Osgiliath, he saw the mumakil and the Haradrim, and Theoden's men fighting them.

But over all, he saw the Nazgul, waiting, and one huge black shape. The Witch-King. The Captain of Minis Morgul. He stood nearby the gate, then rose on his foul steed.

"Will you fight him?" Pippin asked. His voice was very small as he saw fully the terror of Mordor. Understandable, but Gandalf still felt a flash of annoyance he stuffed down. What did Pippin know of the prophecy? Gandalf again shook his head. He knew the prophecy, but he did not think it applied to him, either.

Still, something had to be done about the Black Captain. "Keep fighting," Gandalf whispered. "We will see how this plays out."

"I did not think I would die so soon," Pippin said.

"Death is but a path, one that we all must take," Gandalf said. "Even I will eventually depart. But...it is not to be feared." Gandalf's words softened, but he knew the hobbit was still listening. "It is like a curtain of glass that pulls back, and then you see it…a green country under a swift sunrise."

"That doesn't sound so bad," Pippin whispered. He still stared at the horror of the Nazgul, but the hobbit's voice had lightened, and with the gifts given to him, he knew that Pippin was taking heart. "Merry is the one with courage. He is somewhere out there…and soon, I will see him again."

"Indeed you will, my dear hobbit," Gandalf said, making his voice light. Then he rose, feeling the black evil of Mordor. His voice carried over the field. "Fall into the Shadow. Fall to the nothingness that remains to you and your master!" He strove with the shadow, light meeting darkness, like the clash of light and shadow in a thunderstorm. He felt the air ripple as the command went out. The dark captain laughed.

"Greybeard, your time is past. It is you who will fall." Still, Gandalf saw that the Witch King did not enter the city, as long as Gandalf stood before the gate. Was the Witch-King afraid, maybe? Gandalf did not know his enemy's mind, but it certainly appeared so.

Pippin was catching on, as he murmured, "You challenged him on the field, but he will not challenge you in the city."

"I agree," came a new voice. Thom had come up beside him. His cloak of many patches was tattered and bloodstained, and he looked bruised, but his knives were held in a steady hand. "That monster still fears your power, even though he still dominates the field."

"Master Merrilin, I though you were at the upper level, with the other lords."

"They sent some forces with me," the old gleeman said, and indeed the lords from the coast were there. He looked grim. "They defend the city, but they also wish to help in the field. I will stay here at the gate. I will not let Minis Tirith become another Manatheren."

Gandalf knew of the fallen city, overrun by the Shadow. He liked the old man, still spry, still a thorn in the forces of darkness. The other lords looked confused, but Gandalf clapped the other man on the shoulder while men swirled around them both.

Pippin had heard the stories, too. "A bramble to his foot and a thorn in his hand," he said. "Let us remain." He was as serious, as grim, as Gandalf had ever heard. Not afraid, not anymore, but angry, and Gandalf knew why. The spirit of the strangers had infected them all.

"But your wife…" Gandalf said. A spirit did not marry, not as the Children of Iluvatur. But he could feel the concern for Moiraine through his unseen senses.

Thom laughed. "Better for her to find me," he said fondly. "She has a better chance of surviving on the field than I do standing at the gate." To that, Gandalf had no words. It was true. The calm, serene lady was a force of anger when she was roused.

"Wait…" Pippin suddenly said. "Look. The Nazgul. He is leaving." Gandalf looked up. The Witch-King was indeed leaving, flying for a specific spot on the battleground. Gandalf stretched out his sight, and what he saw made him hiss. Spurring Shadowfax into action, he motioned for Thom to follow. Together, they galloped out of the gates.

181818

Eowyn had been infected with the independent spirit of the strangers. Already longing to be a shieldmaiden, it was as though she had been given permission. She knew her uncle's reasoning was sound. He was not treating her as a weak woman, but because she was truly royalty, the last of her house if Eomer and Theoden died. Still, she wanted to ride. So she had snuck onto a horse.

Now she wished she hadn't. The ambush had succeeded well, though the retreat had been hairy. She had stayed close to her uncle, but the sight of the Dwimmerlaik had nearly shaken her resolve. Then they had camped before the city, watching orcs swarm over the field of Mundburg. They had tried to press them back, and had been engaged in a running battle for the last three days. Then the oliphants had come, and they had been forced back.

She still remembered the terror of them coming up the battlefield. The horses had not liked it, and only her whispering had calmed her own steed. What could she do? She wanted to fight, but didn't know how. Seized by a sudden idea, she drew her sword and rode toward the nearest beast. Under the great legs, she slashed desperately. At the same time, she felt heat and smelt blistering skin. The legs began to buckle, and with the adroitness of her people, she galloped under the beast, around a tail like a giant broom. Her swords were notched by the tough hide, though red marks showed where she had slashed.

Wheeling around, she saw three of the beasts goring each other, and fireballs coming from the press of riders. One of the witches, then. Over the noise of the battle, the Black Lady's voice rang. "Shoot for the eyes!" she commanded. The cry was taken up by the other riders, and a flurry of arrows flew at the giant beasts. More went down, and a hole was opened in the Haradrim lines. She had not brought a bow, but took opportunity of the gap, slashing the orcs and Haradrim that rushed to fill it. She saw the banner of Rohan heading for the same gap and pressed toward it.

"Move!" she yelled to the Riders around her. They moved, fighting their way toward the King.

Suddenly their was a dark shadow over the sun, and the scream of fear. The banner went down, and she looked into the darkness of despair. Her uncle lay on the ground, pinned by his horse, and the beast of the Dwimmerlaik loomed over him, mouth open to rend and tear. The whole world seemed to stand still, and then she rode forward. Her heart was filled with fear, but underneath it was the courage of her race, and anger. Her uncle had been healed. He should not die in shame, pinned by his own horse! With sudden strength, she swung her sword, and the black, stinking beast lay on the ground, suddenly headless.

Up rose the Black King. His headless crown seemed to mock her, and when he spoke, it was with harsh laughter. "Do not come between the Nazgul and its prey," it hissed, the voice of death incarnate. He loomed over her, a mace in his gauntleted hand, and she knew now she was marked for death. Still she did not quail.

"I will kill you if you touch him!" she snarled. The fear was gone, but the anger remained, a roaring fire. Rage for all that she had seen that was evil. Here was an enemy of all that was good in the world, an enemy that was deserving of all her hatred. And she had enough to give to him.

The faceless black between crown and robe laughed. "Fool! No man can kill me." The mace swung once, then twice, and she ducked both times, feeling the whoosh over her head.

"I am no man!" she said, sweeping off her helmet and letting her golden hair free. She knew death when she saw it, and would die as herself, winning glory at the end of shame. The Black King swung his mace again, and then time, she was not fast enough. She caught it on her shield, and her whole arm felt shattered to the bone. The pain, along with the terror of the black shape before her, made her feel faint. Through a narrowing tunnel of light, she saw the huge shadow stumble, and with the last of her strength, she plunged the sword where the head should be. Blackness was claiming her, but with the last of her sight, she saw to things- the headless crown rolling on the ground, and Merry slowly falling to the ground, a sword still held in his shaking fingers.

"Thank you, Merry," she whispered, then all went dark.

181818

Halbarad rode through the battle, his sword cleaving every enemy that stood on his way. He was looking for a certain face, that of the Red Lady. Of all the strangers, she had no protector, and he was honor-bound to protect her. Not that she needed it, and she realized her strange sisters were better than he, but he was bound by honor nonetheless.

They were on the southern end of the field, but Aragorn led northward, toward the bleagured Rohirrim. Halbarad could then see the brave defense against the horrible beasts of the Harad. He also saw the Witch-King attack the banner of the Theoden. He pointed it out to Aragorn, and Aragorn nodded, leading the Dunedain toward where Theoden had last been seen.

As he fought closer, he watched in astonishment the brief and short battle with the Lord of the Nazgul, and the fulfillment of prophecy as he at last met his end. Aragorn was but one step ahead, digging in the healer's pouch he carried with him, while Halbarad looked around the area. The battle had passed to the North, but some of the Rohirrim were riding back, having seen the battle also.

Of the Aes Sedai, there were no signs, though he was sure he had seen fireballs earlier and knew they were somewhere on the field. He wanted to press on to search for them, but a motion from Aragorn restrained him. He knelt by Theoden's head, and when he raised his face, Halbarad knew. He felt his heart plunge. He had liked the old but wise king, and had rejoiced to hear of his deliverance. Now...he was dead. Even more grieved he was to see Eowyn also there. If Eomer had fallen, all of Rohan would be empty of leadership.

But Aragorn smiled as he bent over the Lady of Rohan. "She lives. Halbarad, take her to the Healers. Let the Knights of the Mark follow behind, and bear their king with honor."

Hlabarad nodded and rode close. Aragorn handed Eowyn up, and he held her in his arms, guiding his horse with his knees. Slowly, they rode together toward the White City, proud home of the Steward, bent but not yet defeated. It would continue, and so would Eowyn, if she could survive the Nazgul's touch.

He saw another group of Riders on his way toward the city, sheltering something. When he approached, they parted, and his search for the Aes Sedai was answered. Tuon and Moiraine kneeled beside Teslyn, who looked pale and wan. She was wiping dried blood from a wound in her arm, while a Rider pressed rations on her.

Moiraine stood slowly, and looked at the bundle in his arms. For an instant, anger filled her face, and then, she was serenity once more. "Is she...?"

Swiftly Halbarad told her of the battle with the Witch-King. "She has won a mighty victory, though it might cost her life." He held out the twisted helm as proof, and Moiraine looked at it with a shudder. "And you?"

"An arrow of the South," one of the Riders said. "Though touched by the Shadows above. The Blue Lady drove out both poisons, and has brought healing with the power of the Valar."

Halbarad could believe it. What he had seen was the power of the Eldar or better, and a sudden hope sprang up in him. He did not think Eowyn had the time needed to get her to the city. "Can you?" he asked, touching Eowyn with his calloused hand.

"I will try," Moiraine said. Quickly Eowyn was laid on the same blankets that Teslyn sat on. The Red Lady held her head, while Moiraine adjusted a bracelet on her wrist. She slid something from her finger that looked like a ring, and placed it on Eowyn's finger. She arched, as though in pain, and Halbarad put a hand over her mouth when it looked as though she would cry out.

Moiraine's look of tiredness soon shifted to frustration, then anger. She muttered something that sounded like "Nygneve," but he could not make the rest of it out. She leaned back and looked at Halbarad. "I have taken the physical pain and injuries, but something resists my healing. Are you sure there is not more to tell?"

"No," Halbarad said.

Teslyn suddenly looked up. Her dark eyes were angry. "We saw a little of Rohan. We saw the king being delivered, but before that...Lady Eowyn was the only one who ruled in a kingdom that was failing. Perhaps despair..."

Halbarad saw it clearly then. He was a Dunedain, the remains of a shattered nation. He held to his calling, but some of his people had not. The Age-long struggle against the Darkness had left many in despair, and some had even joined with the Enemy. He himself had at times grown discouraged, and he was not the leader of his people.

All of this went through his mind in an instant. "I think so too," he said. "She will heal in body, but in spirit...that is something only the Valar know."

Their eyes met, and he saw agreement, but more, he saw agreement with the idea of having a protector. From what he knew of the Aes Sedai, it was rare for a man to volunteer. Well then.

"I have given thought to what you said about having a guardian," he said. "I would like to be that for you, Teslyn of the Red Ajah." He bowed formally. "I lay my sword at your feet." Unbuckling his sword belt, he laid it gently down on the ground.

Aragorn's eyes widened, a sign of shock for him, and Moiraine went dead still. "You say you have a protector, and you do. Your sisters are capable, it is true. But one arrow can kill you. In fact, one almost did, despite being surrounded by hundreds of men. At least let me guard you until this war is done, and we have peace."

Teslyn smiled, rare for her. "I have your pledge, but do you understand what the Warder bond means? If I die, you will go into a blood frenzy, and will not be able to rest until your own death. Moiraine knows the costs better than I, and that is the least of it. Tell him."

Moiraine shook her head. "I think this is the Pattern," she said. "It is something I did not expect, but I think you should bond him now, and quickly. There is more to this than the war against Sauron."

"An omen. then?" Tuon said from the other side.

Moiraine shook her head. "I do not have that Talent. It is a feeling, nothing more- like the feeling I had at Emond's Field so long ago." Halbarad did not know that story, but his history was replete with prophecies and feelings. And she spoke with sudden authority.

"Do this I will," Teslyn said. The tall, bony woman approached. He was taller, but he bent his head. She put a hand on either side, and his skin prickled. Then a giant flush of heat washed through him, as though he had stood for an instant next to a great oven. When it retreated, he was aware of her thoughts- sharp amusement, anger, surprise, and her weariness. He knew how much already she had given in the war against Sauron, and that she desperately needed rest.

"You need rest, also," she said. "I feel your injuries and pain. You fought your way through the battle, looking for me." Her face was still stern, but her eyes had softened somewhat. "I have seen the need for Warders, now, and I will help you as you have helped me."

Eowyn had been carried off toward the city, though the Riders remained. Halbarad still could feel the Red Lady in his head, and counted it fair to protect her. Now he would know her moods and her weariness, and the limits of her strength. He would know when she was in danger, and where she was. He was grateful.

"Let us head back toward the city. You are at the end of your strength, Teslyn, and I would not have you burn out your ability. I, too, am weary. Aragorn will find us later."

Teslyn nodded, and he mounted his horse, then pulled her up behind him. For being so tall, she was a light woman, and he did not think he would feel the strain if he had to carry her. Together, they rode toward the city, the Riders and other Aes Sedai following behind.

181818

Jahar wished that his Aes Sedai was with him. Merise was a good woman, and he loved her dearly, but here, in this new world, the bond was...snapped. He could no longer feel her. Even knowing that travel was now possible between the worlds did not mean that he still felt incomplete. And what of her? He was not there to protect her, and should an attack come, she would be defenseless.

He stretched, stiff. Since holding the island, three attacks had come, each larger than the other. He and Gamling had led the men in a desperate defense, each time holding back the invaders. But each attack had cost more men, and of the five hundred that had originally come, only two hundred were left that were fit to fight. The Ring of Fire had helped, washing away the terror of being trapped without hope, and Damer's healing had cured physical ailments, but Jahar had been a fighter long enough to know the next attack would break them. He wanted some help, needed it.

He paced in front of Damer. The older man was weary. "I don't know if I have the strength for Healing," he said. "I have done what I can, but I need rest. So do you, I suspect. What we learned at Dumai's Wells was helpful, but how long can you last?"

"As long as I must," Jahar told the Andorman. But he knew Damer's words were true. They had done their best. Now they would die, building a wall of bodies around them.

Suddenly he started. A gateway was opening, and men were pouring through. They looked bloody and beaten, but they poured through the gateway anyway. At their head was a figure Jahar had not yet seen, but heard about. "Aragorn," he said.

The Ranger nodded his head, and looked around at the pile of bodies. His mouth twisted in distaste at seeing heads blown apart, but his eyes still showed respect. "You had a masterful defense. You held the island well. A friend came with a message that Cair Andros was about to be overrun. We won the field before the White City, and came to aid you if you needed it."

Jahar felt a huge relief. "Theoden King is dead," Aragorn said, "but his family lives. Rohan will survive. Also, the White City has been saved."

"The Light protected them," Jahar said, "and the embrace of the Mother welcomed them home. And those of my world?"

"They are all well," Aragorn said. "Teslyn has...formed a bond with my kinsman. It was not what I expected, but I think the Creator binds our two worlds together."

Jahar was shocked. "Who initiated it?" he asked. He did not think any Red could or would.

"My kinsman," Aragorn said, a smile at the corner of his mouth. "He was told the dangers, but persisted anyway. Halbarad has a sense of honor that would not be out of place in your Borderlands, and as she was the only one without a protector, he volunteered his services. I think, though, that she recognized the dangers of Middle-Earth. She was quick to accept."

Jahar could understand Halbarad's sense of honor and duty, and found no complaints. He could even understand Teslyn's acceptance. The Rangers, from what he heard, were an honorable people, and Teslyn would be well served and protected. It was simply a surprise.

"It seems so," he said finally. "As for us, we lost more than half our men. Still, we beat off three attacks. I do not know if we are still under threat, but we cannot survive another attack if it comes."

Aragorn nodded. Some men, dressed in green and brown, melted into the wood. Jahar wondered who they were, and Aragorn answered the unspoken question. "Faramir, the son of the Steward, has rangers in the woods of Ithilien. They dress such in order to take the enemy by surprise."

Jahar nodded. Much like the Aiel, then. When he returned to his home, he would have to tell his King, Lan of the Seven Towers, about them. He knew where they were heading, around the island to search for an enemy.

"You and Damer must return with me," Aragorn said. "There is a council of war, where we will decide what to do with Sauron. Gamling, can you hold with the men we have here?"

"Yes, I can," the old soldier said. "Thank you, Aragorn." He dipped his head.

"We will return when all is made secure," Aragorn promised. "This is nearly the end." Something about the way he spoke made Jahar perk up. He sounded like Rand toward the end, when he went to the Last Battle.

"Is it?" he asked.

All Aragorn did was nod his head, but it was enough. Jahar felt a thrill go through him. This, then, was the end, when all would be decided, and for good or evil, the long war would be settled.

 **A/N: So the Ranger and the Red are bonded. There are reasons for this bonding that will be revealed in the sequel- if I write it. Just know for right now that it is the will of the Pattern that this occur. Moiraine does not have the Foretelling, but here, she is not wrong. Also, trust Teslyn (as a former damane) and Halbarad (a Dunedain of ruined Arnor) to grasp quickest the issues surrounding Eowyn. Despair is not even in it, guys.**

 **Cair Andros, according to the book, was nearly overrun. The battle reflects that. Even Jahar and Damer can only do so much, even if they did learn the lessons of Dumai's Wells. As for Jahar's comment on camouflage, I do not think that Randland has camouflage as such (except for the Aiel). I think Lan will be pleased.**

 **I wanted to look at the Witch-King's death from Eowyn's perspective- she is the other main character in the battle, after all. Hopefully, I grasped her inner thoughts correctly.**


	24. Chapter 24- The Testing of Courage

Faile looked in horror at the sight before her. Even the Blight had not prepared her for the sight of Minas Morgul. It was truly the city of nightmares. She hardened her heart and looked at the hobbits. Their eyes reflected the same terror. Already it was beginning to work on her mind- the temptation to give up and let the darkness claim them. Her head spun, from the demented flowers in the fields of the city as much as from fear.

"We need to find the hidden stair," she said. "Before we faint away."

Sam and Frodo looked on one side of the road, while she looked at the other. Sam hissed, and she ran over. The stair loomed up in the dark, carved into the very side of the mountain, a sweep that took her breath. "Go ahead of me," she whispered, "and I will follow." The stairs were cracked, and she would be able to support the hobbits if she needed to. Also, she could watch for danger behind them, and make sure that Frodo was not overcome.

She was worried about him. All the benefits from Ithilien had seemed to fade as he moved closer to the haunted city, and she was afraid as the Ring grew closer to Mordor, that its temptation and weight would only grow greater. Indeed, Frodo was looking toward the city, and not the way that they should take. Slowly, he stepped out on the bridge that spanned the fields of demon flowers.

"No!" Sam said, a loud hiss. He started toward his master, but Faile was faster. She had learned a little of hand-to-hand combat from Rhuarc when she had stayed at the Stone of Tear, and she used it now, giving a flying tackle that wrapped around Frodo. He had grown thinner, and was not the sturdy hobbit she had known in Rivendell. His strength was also less, and she held him tightly, turning his face from the ruined city toward the dark staircase.

The green glow went out of his eyes, and he shook his head. "Twice now you have saved the Quest from disaster," he said. "It was as though...as though the Ring was calling me."

"It does that," Faile said. She too, felt the temptation to seize the Ring, to keep it safe, of course. She was the stronger one, used to war and combat. Or so the whispers said. She had rejected them all. "Come, let us get you onto the long stair."

Frodo looked at her gratefully. "If more such moments come, I do not mind if you tackle me. I fear more such moments will."

Faile was grateful for Frodo's trust, but the whispers had grown stronger for her as well. If she was too succumb, what then? Who would stop her? Disturbed by the trend her thoughts were taking, she focused on the task at hand, shooing the hobbits onto the stiarcase and climbing the first steps herself.

Then the world seemed to blow up. It started with the sound. Faile had heard the Ringwraiths in the marshes. Here, in their place of power, the sound was magnified almost beyond bearing, a sound of fear and terror so great she nearly slipped off the staircase. Immediately following the sound was a bright green flash that made the shapes of the mountains stand out in relief. Now the city was fully revealed, and on the topmost tower was a great black shape.

Faile cowered back. So this was the Witch-King, the one prophecied that no man would kill. She wanted to send an arrow at his back. Maybe a woman could do what a man could not. But if she did...if she did, they would be discovered, and the Quest would fail.

Still, she watched in horror as the great figure walked over the great bridge and toward the west, a long line of black shapes following. On and on the army came, even as they climbed higher, along the face of the cliff, like ants against a rock. Hopefully, they would be treated like ants, overlooked and ignored, even as she knew that soon, Perrin, if he lived, would face the full horror of Mordor. And what of Faramir, the brave captain that dared to spit in Mordor's eye? What of Aragorn and Legolas, Gimli and the two young hobbits? Mat and Tuon, Tam and Moiraine and Thom? What of Galadriel and brave Loial? All of them, caught up in the war while she and two small men crept into the enemy's stronghold? Maybe all her friends, old and new, were a diversion, while she fought the real battle, but she feared for them all anyway. Even if the Ring was destroyed, she feared many good men would die, maybe her friends among them.

Still, she climbed, putting one foot in front of the other, catching herself and the hobbits, forcing her knees to bend and straighten. She had a head for heights, but as the stair continued up and up, a more primal fear began to creep into her mind. The hobbits felt it too, by their frightened eyes. The torches of the enemy army were merely points of light now, and still the stair climbed. Faile did not know how much longer she could go on, and the stairs were made for human feet. For the hobbits, it had to be a torment, but they never stopped. To their courage she now added their strength.

Suddenly the stairs stopped, and she gasped in relief. The hobbits were already on the landing, and she joined them, stretching out her tortured knees. The army was now gone, and down in the valley was a brooding silence and darkness. The path stretched on, climbing gently around a spur of the mountain, but she had to stop.

Parcelling out a cake of lembas, she took a mouthful of water. She was parched, but she had taken Faramir's warning seriously, and had refused to drink from the black stream in the Haunted Valley. But now they were above it, and she would look for water. They needed it to press on, for their waterbottles were only half full.

As they sat, Frodo dozed, and Sam and Faile spoke quietly. "Do you know how much further, Miss Faile?" he asked. "So far, we have done well, but those stairs..." he rubbed his knees, the first sign of complaint she had ever seen from him.

Faile tried to measure the distance with her eyes, but it was so dark. She could barely see the distance around her, but she figured they were halfway, or close, by the way the mountains lay. Sam nodded when she spoke. "Let Mister Frodo rest for a while, then, and we will push on." The stout and loyal gardener reminded her of Loial, and she smiled wearily. Sam noticed. "Rest awhile yourself," he said. "I will take the watch. You have made sure we were safe ever since we left the others."

Faile couldn't argue. Exhausted in more than just her body, she let her eyes close. It seemed she had barely drifted off when a small hand was shaking her, and Frodo was looking into her face. "You shouldn't have fallen asleep," he said. "Not in this place."

She was alert at once. "How long did I sleep?" she said. Frodo and Sam just shrugged.

"It is hard to measure time here, Miss Faile," Sam said. "It all seems the same. It is this cursed murk."

"He sends his darkness to cover his armies," Faile said. Everyone knew who she referred to. "We have rested enough, and it is time to press on." Wearily, they all hoisted their packs and continued on, winding into the side of the mountain. The path ascended gently, then they were faced with another stair. This, though, was less steep, and wound in switchbacks between the two cliffs, giving more protection. Carefully, Faile watched Frodo. His steps were slow, but that could be weariness as much as the pull of the Ring.

Finally, they reached the top of the stair. Faile could see they were nearly at the pass, for in the dim murk, she could see the peaks above her. But across their way was a spur of rock, and in it, a dark opening, like the loss of all hope, like the Pit of Doom itself. Faile felt more afraid by the tunnel than she had by the Haunted City. Why, she didn't know, but she did not want to take one step more.

181818

Sam was afraid, too. His very breath seemed stolen away, but he knew the tunnel was the only way. His voice was shrill in the high airs as he spoke. "We have rope. Could we make a chain? It is dark in there, begging your pardon, and we don't need to be separated."

The queen nodded, and soon they were bound together. She went in front, though she was shaking, and Frodo was put in the middle. Sam went last, his sword in his hand. Slowly, they approached the opening, and it grew larger, and then larger, swallowing up what light there was. The smell grew, as well, and Sam wrinkled his nose. It smelt like the stink of a hundred orc holes, and once again, he hesitated. He shook his head. There was no sense in him delaying any more.

Suddenly the Queen spoke. He could hear the fear in her voice, but her hand was steady. "Your

gift, Frodo. The light of the evening star."

"Of course!" Frodo said. His smile broke the shattering stillness and watchfulness of the mountains, and Sam nearly wept. How long since that smile? Not since Faramir, surely. Hopefully, he would see it again. His master reached in his pack and pulled out the Lady's gift. Bright, it seemed to drive back the shadows. Frodo handed it to the Queen. "Lead the way, Faile," he said.

That was all that was needed. Sam felt his fear recede, though he kept his sword bared. Who knew what sort of creatures could be in the tunnel? He had not forgotten Faramir's warning. All of them seemed to have the same idea, for Frodo and Faile also carried naked steel.

Into the tunnel they plunged, and Sam was glad for the light. Immediately, the tunnel branched and branched again, a hundred passageways. Still, there seemed to be one main tunnel, leading straight on, and Faile followed this, keeping to the middle to avoid touching the walls. Sam agreed with her. There was something strange about the walls, and what was this white substance, sticky to the touch? He looked at a strand, horror and realization growing. He had heard the tales of Mirkwood from Frodo and Bilbo before him, and knew what these were. Frodo knew, too, from the realization in his eyes. Sam coughed to get Faile's attention, and pointed at the strands. Faile's eyes widened, and she nodded, picking up the pace a little.

Sam knew it was all she could do, that and try to find a way through the maze of passageways. As they went on, the webs grew thicker, and so did the smell and sense of hidden menace. The occupant of the tunnels had been awakened by the light, and was watchful. Sam took a tighter grip on his sword. He did not want to speak. That would attract attention he didn't want. But he was ready.

Still the smell and danger increased, until they were nearly crawling. Even the Lady's glass, so bright before, seemed dim and dull. Smell was the only sense remaining, and it was for their torment. Suddenly they came to an opening on the left, vaster than any they had yet seen, and the heart of the smell and danger, so strong Sam had to fight to keep from fainting.

"There," he said, breaking the silence. "There is the monster of which Gollum spoke." The shadows there shifted, and two set of eyes were brought into the light, reflecting it like a cluster of diamonds. Underneath could be dimly seen a set of mandibles, and behind, a huge mass. It was enough that the terror was revealed at last.

The Queen nodded. "Let us see if it is afraid of the light." Turning, she shone the light straight down into the hole. There was a hiss, long and venomous, but the great creature dropped away, and the terror lessened.

Sam was so proud. The Queen was scared, there was no denying. Everyone had fears, he knew, and she had finally found hers. But she marched on anyway, giving strength to them. In

the half-light, he could see Frodo's tired smile. Then they began marching away, past the great hole and its dark occupant, walking backward, sword at the ready. "I'll take you, you brute," he muttered.

Now they could move more freely, the smell and the terror lessened. The webs were still there, hanging down like curtains, but passable. And Sam could almost see the end of the tunnel, dead ahead. A faint circle of light, but blazing next to that of the tunnel. Faile moved at the same pace, gently, making sure that they all reached the end together. Suddenly she stopped, right at the end of the tunnel. She raised her sword and brought it down, hard. It seemed to bounce, and she turned, looking puzzled. At all times, Sam had seen her back. Now she saw her face, her eyes reflecting the clear white light of the Evening Star. Her whole face was bathed by it, and Sam thought he might be looking at the Powers above. He bowed his head gently.

"Your sword, Frodo," the Queen said, and her voice, simple and high, broke the spell. "It was forged in the deeps of time, and should cut these webs." Frodo passed up Sting without hesitation, and Faile slashed desperately. Not too soon. Sam looked backwards, and could feel the great spider approaching. He could even see, far down in the tunnel, two sets of eyes reflecting the light.

"Out!" he said. "It comes!" Faile sprang out, and Frodo with her. Sam came last, his sword ready. The eyes were close behind, and he backed out just as they reached him. He stabbed, desperately, and one great eye went dark.

Sam backed up to gain room, and untied himself. The others did, as well. Faile darted in front, and stabbed again at the edge of the tunnel. THere was a hiss, and out came the creature. It looked like a spider, but it was far larger, twice as tall as the tall queen, and evil. Sam could see where it had been hurt. Faile scrambled back, under the bloated belly, and shoved up with her sword. Rolling to her feet, she looked at the notched sword in disbelief. She swayed, pale, and that moment was all the spider needed. The sting in her mouth stabbed quickly, and Faile went down.

Sam was now angry. Darting forward, he stabbed at the creature again, moving with all of his speed. The great clawed feet moved again and again, trying to pin him, but he was faster. He felt sick himself with the stench of the creature, far worse than anything he had ever experienced, but he managed to keep his head. Darting in and out of his vision was Frodo, moving as fast as he, and waving Sting like his uncle had done so long ago. One stroke struck true, and a great leg was shorn at the knee. The spider stumbled, and Sam moved again. His strength was failing, but he struck again and again with his small sword, trying to watch his master at the same time.

Still, the spider was larger and stronger, and eventually, Frodo stumbled. The spider struck again, and Frodo's face went white. Still, under the creature, he stabbed upward. The spider sank, and Sam could hear the hiss of pain as it impaled itself. Down, down the spider sank, and

Sam worried that Frodo would be crushed. Not so. The spider rose, stumbling away, dripping vile green fluids, and limped on seven legs back into its cave.

Sam rose slowly. The terrible battle and stench had taken its toll, but his first desire was for his master. Quickly he moved to Frodo, and checked for life in that pale body. He despaired at not finding a pulse, and was faced with a terrible choice. Should he continue on, alone, into Mordor? Could he? Could he leave his master? Tears ran down his face as he tried to decide what to do. But there was no choice, not really. The Ring had to be destroyed. Carefully sliding the chain from around Frodo's neck, he placed it over his own. Looking into his master's face, he saw no sign of life, and this convinced him he had died and laid aside the Quest. Tears streaking his face, he carefully pulled Frodo behind a rock and covered him with his cloak.

Next he moved to Faile. She, too, looked dead, and felt dead to the touch, pale and wan, those striking, tilted eyes showing no life. Carefully, he shut them. "You were a lady from another world who fought for us," he said. "It's not right, you being left here. But I will come back, when the errand is done, and make you sure you are buried proper."

The first step up toward the top of the pass was the hardest he had ever taken. It was even harder than his first steps out of the Shire. Determinedly, he put one foot in front of the other, determined to fulfill the Quest. For Frodo, for the Shire, and for all his friends, he could not and would not fail.

 **A/N: Here, we finally return to Faile. Her fear of spiders is not a surprise (Saldaea is the Borderlands, and cool even in summer, and close to the Blight besides), though the series does not state it explicitly. Still, she gave good account of herself.**

 **Though the book shows that the Phial was remembered toward the end of the tunnel, and this makes sense from the perspective of unproved hobbits, Faile is far from innocent. She would be trained to see, and use, every advantage. It would be out of character for her not to. In the end, it made no real difference, but I wanted to point that out.**

 **By the way, this was a very difficult chapter for me to write. I have severe arachnophobia, and I had to imagine giant spiders for over an hour. Perhaps this was the reason that I delayed writing this section for so long and lost synchronicity, but things should be all caught up now. Chronology states that Shelob waylaid the hobbits the day before the Battle of the Pelennor Fields (if I am wrong, please correct me).**

 **One further announcement- I am about to move. I received a transfer from Albuquerque to Austin with my company, and my apartment has been full of boxes for the last week. I will try and update every week as I have been doing, but it may not happen. I ask for your patience as I go through this transition. Thank you!**


	25. Chapter 25- Standing Strong

Perrin had rested after the battle. The ferocity of his anger had still surprised him, and the grief as he heard of the death of Theoden and the brave deeds of Merry and Eowyn. He had not seen the Witch-King, nor did he want to, but the twisted crown was there as a momento of his defeat. With his spirit banished, it was but another piece of metal.

He touched the scar on his forehead, just above his eye. The troll that had come at him had been just a little too slow. A second faster, and he would have been dead. As it was, only Aragorn's touch had saved him.

The Ranger had been everywhere, and everywhere, there was talk of the king returning. For all Perrin had seen on the Quest, he still had not quite believed it. Not until he had heard the prophecy and felt his hands for himself had he believed. Nynaeve would have liked the Ranger, he was sure. Still, the time for the coronation was not yet. Not with war still on the borders.

He found his eyes turning again and again to the East. There, somewhere in the dark mountains of Mordor, Faile and two hobbits carried the true Quest. He had met the Steward's son, in healing like himself, and Faramir had eased his heart. Faile was still well, still leading and guiding Frodo and Sam. Still, how he missed her! He prayed constantly she was well.

A cough made him look up. Mat stood there, Tuon beside him. Apparently, both had fought like the soldiers they were, and Tuon's advice had saved many of the Riders from death. Mat leaned on his spear. He had been injured, too, but not as badly as Perrin. Tuon had not been injured at all, and the story she had told had made Perrin's jaw drop. Aragorn's cousin, being bonded by Teslyn, of all people? Teslyn, who had sworn that Warders were unnecessary?

"There is a council of war," Tuon drawled. "Aragorn wants us to attend."

Perrin rose with a wince. Even a Trolloc was not as strong as a troll. Now he knew what it felt like when he hit someone with a hammer. "He put me in the Houses of Healing," he said. "That troll was nearly too much for me."

"And I was the one who dragged that carcass off you!" Mat said with a laugh. "I thought you were dead. Still, Aragorn thinks you are well enough."

It was a little chilly, and Perrin wrapped his elven cloak around him. When he left his chamber, he saw all his friends there, and had a feeling of coming full circle. "It is nearly over, isn't it?" he said. No one had to say anything. They all knew it was true.

Teslyn stood, Halbarad a gray shadow behind her. "I want to see this magic of bending space," he said. His eyes were alight with curiosity.

"As I said," Teslyn said. "It is not bending space. I will explain the Power to you yet." Her tone was stern, but there was amusement as well. She took a deep breath and opened the gateway. Aragorn stood up, and his delight was obvious.

"Welcome. The others will come soon."

Perrin stepped through into the tent. Many seats were there, more than he expected. Aragorn clapped Perrin on the back. "I am glad to see you up so soon."

Perrin nodded and took a seat. Mat and Tuon joined him, as did Teslyn and Halbarad. Another gateway opened, and Jahar, Damer and Eomer stepped through. Aragorn greeted them. Yet another gateway opened, and Moiraine, Thom and Denethor stepped through, the Steward looking suspiciously around. Again, there was nothing but respect from Aragorn. Gimli and Legolas followed soon after, as did Prince Imrahil. Last to enter was Gandalf, holding a cloth-wrapped bundle.

"This was found in your chambers, Denethor," he said. "Proud you were, to use the Stones."

Denethor started. "Who was it that betrayed me?"

"Beregond, who now is in honor. But for him, despair may have overwhelmed your mind." Perrin shuddered. He knew of the Stones. Aragorn, on the ride to deliver the city, had spoken of his trial. And Denethor did indeed look proud and unafraid. Perrin prepared for the storm, but the Steward simply shrugged.

Aragorn himself held the Stone in his possession. "You wanted to protect your land, and your people, that were given to you against the return of the king. Yet Gandalf is right. It was foolish. Only twice have I looked, once to challenge Sauron, and once again, to see the threats against us." His eyes grew shadowed at speaking, as though the memory still pained him.

Denethor's voice was quiet, yet he spoke with authority nearly to Aragorn's. "I saw armies, and more armies. We are but sand on the beach, Ranger. The tide of Mordor will wash us away, soon or late."

"This is true," Gandalf said. "Against the Shadow in the East there is no victory. Not by strength of arms can you defeat Sauron. Yet in all his plans he has overlooked two hobbits, who even now carry the Ring to its destruction."

Denethor leapt up, and now his voice was raised. "Have you lost your mind at last, Mithrandir? I nearly did not believe my son, but now I do. The Ring will come into our Enemy's hands, and he will have his victory."

"If Sauron had the Ring, we would know it," Mat said. "He is no fool, this Dark Lord. He will press every advantage."

"The Son of Battles speaks truly," Thom said. "It may even be that he believes we still have it. He will look for a time of confusion, where one of us will try and set ourselves up as the new Ringlord. After all, it is what he expects us to do. He does not expect we will destroy it."

Damer stroked his chin. "Then perhaps we can use his ignorance against him. Perhaps we can press our advantage." Jahar nodded, bells tinkling.

Perrin tugged at his beard. "Frodo and Sam and my wife fight the real battle. If they fail, Sauron will rule this world until its end. What advantage can we give to them?"

"A diversion," Teslyn said. "We Aes Sedai are known for standing the truth on its head. Let us pretend we have the Ring. Let us challenge Sauron."

Denethor laughed, but there was no humor in it. "And with what armies would we lead this attack, witch?" he said. "Rohan has lost its king and half its horses. And Gondor?"

Perrin could see where the debate was going, but Halbarad spoke first. "We would not have to actually fight, but only appear to challenge. The force that marches must be big enough to challenge, but small enough that Sauron takes us for fools. Not all men would have to go."

Imrahil spoke for the first time. "With the coasts rid, all the armies from Anfalas, Losgar and the Langstrand are coming. We could lead out a force larger than all that were on the Fields, and leave the city in better defense than the attack began." 

Eomer nodded. "With the threat of Cair Andros defeated, the path is open from Rohan. Riders that did not make it to the muster are coming now. Some thousand have already arrived."

Denethor nodded slowly. "But will our enemy not laugh, as an armored knight laughs at a child with a bow of green willow, and simply crush us?"

"He may," Tuon said. "But he will also empty his lands, and leave a clear path for those who must destroy the Ring. If the Ring is destroyed, then our defeat will not be in vain, and your people, Lord Steward, will be able to grow once more, without the threat of Mordor."

"It's a gamble," Mat said. "But I agree with all that has been said. It is time to toss the dice."

"I have spoken to Faramir," Moiraine said. "He has eased my heart, but Gandalf, do you see where Frodo is now?"

The wizard shook his head. "All to the East is dark to me. But my heart tells me Frodo is yet alive. And so is Sam." He turned to Perrin. "And so is your wife. I don't doubt the Falcon will perch on your shoulder once again."

Perrin laughed. "It is more like trying to ride a leopard." He turned to the others. There was levity on some faces, but most were still serious. "All of you have something to fight for. If not for your wives and families, then for the land you love."

"And do not worry, Denethor," Gandalf said. "Our enemy may be an armored knight, but we have more than a bow of green willow. Some of us here are worth more than a thousand men. Maybe the sting he tries to take will poison him. No, I think he will not laugh. And neither will we."

181818

Denethor had tried to object to the mad plan, but he had been overruled. Was it not his city, his country? He was grateful for all the help on the battlefield, but that did not mean he should now listen and be silent. He had held Mordor at bay for a long time, longer than his allies could dream.

But then he considered. Aragorn had been what Mithrandir had said, humble and deferring. The only time he had spoken was to warn about the Stones. And he had been right. Denethor knew that what he had seen had nearly driven him mad with grief and despair. And his allies and vassals had spoken with wisdom, not seeking to supplant his authority with their own.

Even the Ring...here he hesitated. But Pippin had spoken to him at length of Boromir's behavior. He knew his son was much like him, no wizard's pupil and a man of honor. Would he, could he...could he have passed the test of the Ring? Or would he have fallen lower than his own son? The thought rankled, but he knew the answer. He knew what temptations he would have faced, and how he would have responded. The thought shamed him, and he bowed his head.

When he raised it, only he and Aragorn remained. "I will not press my claim. Not until Sauron is defeated. I came into the city to heal, not to rule. But eventually, we will have an accounting. I will no longer put off my destiny." The threat, and the offer, were clear to Denethor.

"And will you abolish the line of Stewards?" Denethor asked.

"No!" Aragorn said. "Your line will serve as long as my line will last. Never shall I dishonor all that you have done. For you have done much in the struggle against Sauron, and it will not be forgotten."

That was reassuring to Denethor. "And if I resist?" he said. "Not all will follow you, for my rule is all they have known." He could make threats too, after all.

"Then we will have another kin-strife," Aragorn said. "I know you do not wish for your country to be divided. You love this land you have been given. You are a Steward, Denethor, and have served well. Would you stumble at the end of the road?"

Denethor knew he was caught, for Aragorn knew him too well. "It is true, Aragorn. I do not wish for further conflict. I will stand aside when the time comes, and I will instruct Faramir to do so as well. But do not look for love from me. I did not think for the king to return, and I do not welcome it."

"I did not expect it," Aragorn said. "But you have withdrawn gracefully, and for that, I thank you."

As Denethor left the tent, he felt a grudging respect for the Ranger. No, not the Ranger. The King. His lineage was stated, and the prophecy true. But what would he do as a Steward in truth? For the first time, he felt uncertain. Perhaps he did not know all after all.

181818

Faile woke to pain. She was lying on rough stone, and her hands were bound. She was naked as well. The dream of the giant spider was what had woken her, and she felt that reality, no matter how harsh, was better than her own mind.

A movement made her turn her head. Frodo looked back at her, his eyes wide. He was also naked and bound. But the stress in his eyes was gone, and he looked at her with concern. "Are you alright, Queen Faile?" he asked softly.

Faile tried to sit up, and her head swam. Her stomach churned. "One moment," she said, gasping, hoping her stomach would settle. It did not, and she felt bile rising in her throat. Knowing it was her body purging itself, she let go, turning away the best she could. After heaving for a time, she felt better, and her head clearer.

"You were stung," Frodo said. "So was I, I suspect. I have already lost my lunch, and the dinner before that." He smiled, and Faile couldn't help but smile back. She thought she had been rescued, but they were captives still. Still, captives was better than dead.

"Why didn't the spider eat us?" she whispered. "That is what spiders do."

"I think it was...I am not sure, but this smells and feels like orcs." As though to punctuate his words, she heard the clatter of footsteps, and a particularly ugly orc poked his head up through what looked like a trapdoor in the floor.

"Shut up, you dunghill rats," he said. "Or you'll have a taste of the lash." He cracked the whip at his belt for emphasis. It popped over Faile's head with sparks. They looked away from each other, and the orc disappeared again. Faile waited until its heavy steps had faded, then made a circle with her thumb and finger. She had not seen the Ring on Frodo.

He shook his head, despair filling his eyes. Faile felt despair as well, but said nothing, merely bowing her head in grief. So it was over. The Ring had been taken, and Sauron would cover the earth with darkness. But then she noticed who was missing, and felt hope fill her. Frodo was far-seeing and knowledgeable, but Sam had the practicality and toughness of a soldier. He must have survived or escaped.

When she shared her thoughts with Frodo, his face lit up. "Yes," he whispered. "The orcs have fought over my mithril coat, but I did not see the Lady's vial or Sting. Or the…" he made the sign for the Ring again. "He must have taken them. But what can he do? There must be several hundred orcs in this place."

"More than he believes," Faile whispered slowly. "Remember the stories you told of your uncle, when he went to fight a dragon. He surprised himself. I am sure your friend will as well."

Frodo's voice wavered. "Always, Sam has been strong for me. He is a good friend, certainly. So have you been, Lady Faile. I wish we could cover you with something. It's not right, seeing you naked like this. A queen should have fine clothes, and a crown."

Faile did not speak of her captivity with the Shaido. She had no doubts the orcs would do their worst, but she had seen orcs before, and they were weak and divided. And their chiefs were no Sevanna or Therava. Even they had ruled with a measure of strength. All she said was, "I do not think you would look at me with any lust. As for the orcs...we will cross that bridge when we do."

"No indeed!" Frodo said. "Hobbits and Men do not mix. And even if they did, you are married. It would be improper, Queen Faile. Even so, it doesn't feel right."

Indeed, Faile knew it was not. But she would rather be naked than wear an orc rag. Wait...was that what she thought? Crawling over to a pile of gray in the corner, she saw it was her elven cloak. The brooch was gone, but she threw it round her shoulders and knotted the corners. It was enough, if she drew up her knees to make herself smaller.

Frodo did the same, and huddled in Galadriel's gray, he looked somehow more noble, even in the dark place. To keep his mind off dark thoughts, she probed a little.

"Sam has Rosie Cotton. Do you have anyone you might marry, Frodo?"

"No," Frodo said softly. "I am much like my uncle. He never married, and I do not think that is my part either. But I will bless the marriage of Sam and Rosie, if we return from this place." He coughed, and Faile knew he was parched. Better not to make him talk too much, but the thought of marriage seemed to cheer his heart. It would have to be enough.

To her, it was interesting that hobbits and men were so alike. She had known several men like Frodo and Bilbo, content with their studies and not interested in starting a family. Many Aes Sedai were like that as well, she knew. She thought that perhaps hobbits and men were alike. Certainly, they seemed closer to men than the dwarves or elves.

Seized by a sudden impulse, she crawled over to Frodo. It was chilly, at the top of the tower, and perhaps they could keep each other warm. Understanding what she was about to do, he leaned against her. He was warm, and she took that warmth, contributing to his warmth as well. She felt sleepy, and she knew that they needed to rest, in case Sam was coming to rescue them. Looking out to Mount Doom, she wondered how to get there. Somewhere on its slopes was the end of their errand, the end of the long road.

"Just a little rest," she murmured. She still did not feel fully purged of the poison, and feeling her eyes slip closed, she let herself rest against Frodo. If anything happened, they would warn each other. Hopefully, they would survive.

181818

Tuon had heard how the debate would go, but she was worried about Denethor. It was his city. With his pride, she was sure that he would not take well to interference. She had met many like him as the Daughter of the Nine Moons. General Galgan had been one. She wondered how he was and what he was doing, across the void. It was a passing thought, and she waited until Denethor came out. If he noticed her, he gave no sign.

Aragorn came out soon after, and Tuon walked beside him. "How did he take your claim?" she asked. "You are the rightful king, and all can see that." Even she saw that. Perhaps the Seanchan would explore this new world, but she would insist that they not interfere with its rulers.

"Better than I hoped," the Ranger said. "He does not love me, but he will not fight me."

That was indeed better. She was an Empress, and Artur Hawkwing's lands belonged to her. But she had not liked fighting her own people. That the Steward had stepped aside was preferrable to bloodshed. She also had to admit that her claim was different than Aragorn's. She had conquered nations that had no memory of Hawkwing's face. Aragorn was coming back to his own land.

Some of what she felt must have shown on her face, for Aragorn turned to face her. "You are turning into a fine Empress and a woman of honor. Moiraine has told me your decision regarding your own lands. I think many will be pleased with your wisdom. As for us, we have not been perfect. We had our own wars and kin-strife. Do not think your sins disqualify you from ruling."

"I do not," she said quietly. "But so much of what I have done has been evil. I see that now."

"Better to see now than later," Aragorn said. "At least you will not be as the kings of Numenor, daring to challenge the Creator himself. Now. I will stay here. You are welcome to come or go. I must decide on the dispersement of the troops."

"I will send Matrim to you," she said. "He is a fine general, and will serve you well as you plan this ruse." She said nothing more. Aragorn had already seen the fruit of Mat's wisdom in previous battles. Aragorn's eyes showed his gratitude.

Moiraine was waiting, and at Tuon's nod, opened the gateway. Mat was waiting, and Tuon passed on the news. He nodded. "Of course I will help." Swishing his elven robe around him and grasping his spear, he disappeared through the gateway. Moiraine let it wink shut.

"I will find Thom," she said. "Seeing the Witch-King scared him more than he cared to admit. Perhaps I will try Myrelle's methods with him." She blushed, as though she had said too much. Tuon had heard of the Green, and thought Moiraine had good reason to show embaressment. Of course, she had used the same methods with Matrim. She was a quick learner in that, as in all other things. Now she felt the color in her cheeks! She smiled shyly and hurried away. That would be for later. Now, she wanted to visit the Houses of Healing, where Faramir and Eowyn still dwelt. Perhaps she could help somehow.

181818

Eowyn felt sad. She knew Aragorn had healed her body, and the arm that had been shattered felt like new, or soon would be. But her heart still felt wounded. She had sought death in battle, and had not found it. She was a hero, and was that not what she had always wanted? So why was she sad?

Aragorn had made it worse. His name had been on everyone's lips, and she knew he deserved the throne that was his, but...but he did not love her. Before riding on the Paths of the Dead, she had tried to come with him. Tried to show her feelings for him. She had seen that he did not return them. He still did not. He was kind, but no more.

"Why can I not have what I want?" she asked aloud. "Why cannot I be myself?"

"But you are," a voice said from behind her. She turned suddenly, startled at the interruption. The Black Lady stood there, every inch a queen despite her tiny size. Her dark face was kind, though, and she was polite as she asked to sit.

Eowyn gave permission. "We are in your debt," she said. "For your help with the monsters of Harad. Our horses had never faced such before. Thank you, Empress."

Tuon inclined her head. "I did not like to see it. Like the men of Harad, my people also use such animals as weapons." She looked closer. "You are sad. Is it your uncle? His death was honorable. Do not dishonor that with tears, Lady Eowyn."

Eowyn knew the honor of Seanchan was different than her own. "No," she said. "I will miss him, but I prepared for his death when he was under the control of Saruman. It is…"

"You love someone who does not love you," Tuon said. "Is that it? I have eyes, and I see the way you look at Aragorn. I am sorry, but it will never be as you wish. His heart belongs to another."

Eowyn was angry at the truth being spoken so openly, and with the anger came tears. "And was there no one from the race of men for him to choose?" she spat. She was not comforted as Tuon spoke the story of her strange courtship and marriage.

"Matrim corrupted many women before he met me," she said finally. "Yet he did as the Pattern demanded, and so did I. For us, love came later."

"And you say this to torment me, to tell me to choose my fate?" Eowyn said. "You did not love him. You could have found another."

"I could have," Tuon said. "I did not like the idea of marrying Tylin's Toy. For he had been her pretty." Eowyn could read between the lines. For someone who was so proud, it must have rankled to marry a man that looked so dishonorable. "In truth, I did not have to keep my promises. I like following fate even less than you. But then…" her eyes suddenly twinkled. "It was worth it in the end. Do not think because you were denied Aragorn, that something better may not come." She rose slowly, dusting the bench. "We can still choose our fate, Lady Eowyn. Perhaps it is not what we would first choose, but it is better than despair, is it not?"

At that, Eowyn felt her heart lighten. What Tuon said was true. The story of Denethor's near fall was now common knowledge. Aragorn had tried to keep it close, but a palantir was hard to hide, even under a cloth. He, too, had tried to have things as he wished, and had nearly doomed his city. The Black Lady had not comforted her, but she had spoken the truth. Despair was no option for her. Perhaps, at least, she could put that aside.

Bowing her head, she spoke in a mutter. "I know," she said. "I do not like it. But I will release my despair and my pride." At once, she felt lighter. For so long, she had felt frozen inside. Now, at last, she felt her heart begin to thaw.

181818

Faramir was surprised to see Tuon walk toward him. They had spoken little, for though he knew she was trustworthy, and heard tales of her exploits, he still looked much like the Haradrim he had fought all his life. Polite, he dusted a bench for her, and spoke what was on his mind.

"You saved many lives," he said. "You are like me, I think. I do not love the arrow for its flight, or the sword for its sharpness. Indeed, if I understand the history of your people, they originally chained your magicians to bring peace. Now that there is peace, you set them free."

The Black Lady looked surprised. "That is a...different way to look at things. You see deeply, Lord Faramir. And you are kind to someone who looks like your sworn enemies."

"I do not wish for war, but for peace. Even the Haradrim were once our cousins. Might we once more have the bonds of friendship, if they can be removed from their domination to Sauron? But you do not come to talk about history." He knew enough of the Black Lady to know that nothing she did was casual. All was studied and purposeful with her, the ruler of her people.

"I do not. I hear there is a bond between you and the Lady of Rohan."

Now Faramir was wary. He knew he would one day marry, but he did not want his wife chosen for him. He decided to speak the truth. "There is, but no more than that between royalty of two friendly nations. We have met several times, but she is cold, like a frozen rose, or a hawk trapped by a cage. I do not know what to make of her, or how I should talk to her."

Tuon smiled. "I encourage you to talk to her again. Perhaps a friendly face will remove the chill that is on her heart from fighting the Ringwraith. She is a hero to me, daring so much, but even heroes can be hurt." She rose. "You are a wise man, Faramir. Perhaps your wisdom is needed now."

He knew what she was trying to do, but there was no harm in at least talking to the Lady of Rohan. And he was a healer, it was true. Had he not confessed as much? He decided to talk to her as soon as possible. As though he had called her, he saw her walking toward him.

"So the Black Lady spoke to you too?" she said. "What did you speak of?"

Faramir would not press the issue. Love did not work that way. "She gave me encouragement. You?"

"She gave the truth," she said. She did not look happy, but that was better than the blank look he had seen in her eyes before. "We can accept our choices. I...I admire Aragorn. But perhaps I have not seen all that I should have. I have sometimes been blind."

So that was what Tuon had said. He had heard a little of the strange romance she had with her prince. She knew about accepting prophecy. He decided, as he had with Frodo, to shoot close to the mark. "A wise man or woman must see everything around them. Someone who can see only one option might often be in error. In love, as well as battle, this is so."

Eowyn's eyes flashed. "And you?" It was a challenge now.

"A warrior rarely weds. If Sauron is overcome, I will consider such matters. I expect my father will try and arrange a match. But let us think no more of it. You are still healing, and perhaps we can talk together. Maybe I can ease your heart."

"Thank you, Lord, for your kind words," Eowyn said. She gave a little laugh. "And for offering comfort and pity, though I cannot yet accept it. My grief is still too near." Faramir could see behind her eyes, and knew that she did not accept it. Not yet. Soon, though, he hoped she would. A woman with ice in her veins would be no comfort to a man.

"At least walk with me," he said. "I find the cool air of the Houses of Healing helps me."

"I will do that," she said. Bowing gently, she walked away, and Faramir was left pondering the strange shieldmaiden that he knew he was coming to care for. Love? Maybe not. But perhaps there could be friendship.

 **A/N: I have always seen Denethor as Aragorn saw him. He certainly made some mistakes. The way he treated his sons was one of them. However, he was a good Steward, for the most part, and knew the stakes better than most people think.**

 **Tuon is no matchmaker. Not that I have seen her. In this case, however, she is probably wise to try and bring a strong marriage between two strong nations. And her advice to Faramir is sound. She must admire someone who does not treat her with disdain, but rather can take a more...open-minded view. Unlike other people I could name.**

 **Also, I think she does admire Eowyn and wants the best for her. Someone who can dare to strike at evil the way she did would attract the admiration of one who lived through the Last Battle.**


	26. Chapter 26- The Edge of Doom

Faile awoke from another dream of stings and mandibles to Sam leaning over her. At first, she thought it was a dream, and then reality broke through. He looked grim and cold, not like the sunny hobbit she had known, but he was real.

"So it wasn't a dream," she whispered. "You came."

"Yes, Queen Faile, though I had some help. It seems like there were two factions of orcs, and they killed each other off." He turned to his master and cut his bonds. Frodo smiled, but then his face fell.

"They took it," he said. "The Quest is…"

Sam put a finger to his lips. "Begging your pardon, Mister Frodo, but it is not. I kept it safe." Slowly, reluctantly, he pulled on the golden chain, and the Ring fell out.

Frodo's eyes lit up, but it was a hungry look, a look that made Faile shudder. It was like how Gollum looked, the last time he had been seen. It made her want to vomit. "Sam, you are a marvel," he said. "Give it to me."

Sam still seemed reluctant. "Maybe I could carry it for a while. Share the load?"

"No, no!" Frodo said. "It is mine! My doom!" Faile half-expected him to add, "My precious." Indeed, he reached out his hand, grabbing the Ring roughly. Maybe he couldn't see the tears in his faithful friend's face, but Faile could. Frodo was being overcome, but then the greedy look failed, and he sighed.

"I am sorry, Sam," he said. "But the Council gave me this burden. I can ask no other to carry it for me. Not even you, Sam."

Sam rubbed his eyes. "At least let me find you something to wear, and you too, Queen Faile. You can't walk through Mordor in nought but your skin." Faile nodded and Sam ran off. She didn't believe for a moment that all the orcs had killed each other. They were bloodthirsty, but not all that bloodthirsty. Then she remembered the mithril shirt that Frodo had worn, and how even orcs coveted something rarer than diamonds. If one had started a fight over it...she shuddered.

Still, how had Sam approached the Tower? That could not have been all luck. That he would even approach such a dark place raised her estimation of him. She told Frodo so, and a smile came into his face. She was reminded of him in Rivendell, always happy and ready to dance and smile and eat.

That reminded her. Searching on the floor and on the rough shelves, she found the lembas bread, and some of Faramir's provisions. Not a lot, but enough if they were careful. The waterbottles were whole, but empty. She already felt parched, and she thought that it would only grow worse as they tramped over the ash of Gorgoroth. Steeling her spirit, she thought of the victory that would be assured by the Ring's destruction.

"We will find a place to fill our bottles," she said. "We must."

At that moment, Sam came back in. His eyes were haunted, but he carried a large bundle. Faile was not picky, and dressed in the rough breeches and mail shirt without comment. She was only glad her monthly time had not come for some time, and that she would not have to look for moss as well as something to eat. Over the clothes, she put on a black cloak and a helmet that looked suitably orcish. As she did, she heard of the two camps and what had happened. Sam confirmed her suspicions about the mail shirt, and she was glad that though the clothes did not fit well, she was not dressing in the better make of the traitor Shagrat.

"He went against orders, I guess, boasting of his prize. Well, he got his neck broken for his trouble, and so let's go before someone decides why no one is reporting back." Faile felt more like herself, and the hobbits nodded.

"Indeed," Frodo said grimly. It looked right, that he had Sting and the Lady's glass back. Hopefully he would get his mithril coat back as well. As they descended, Faile tried to hunch down to make herself look shorter. There was little faking needed as she saw the dead orcs, their inner organs scattered on the wall. She felt sick. Not even at the Last Battle had she seen such evil. Soon she saw that Sam's tale was true. Orcs in the livery of a rising moon grappled in death throes with orcs bearing the red eye or Mordor. It had been a slaughter without mercy.

Soon they reached the great hall, and here it was worse. Tiptoeing around the bodies and trying not to slip on black blood, they soon reached the doors.

"Let me borrow your light for a moment," Sam said to Frodo, and the older hobbit handed it over without comment. Stepping forward, Sam held the light out in his fist, and it welled up, revealing two guarding statues. They were in the shapes of vultures, but Faile could feel their evil, like an invisible web. She shuddered. Better not to think of it, but they needed a way through.

Sam walked forward slowly, light held in his fist, and suddenly they were free. From the statues went a keening yell, a scream of warning. "Move!" Faile hissed, and they did, running to the rocks as a cold sensation swept over them.

They were just in time, as a Black Rider swept down on them. They huddled, Sam holding Frodo's hand against the temptation of the Ring, while Faile decided whether to try and shoot the Ringwraith down. She decided against it. Here, they were desperate, with no friends. They must stay silent and hidden, at least until their task was done. Then, if they survived…

Eventually, the Ringwraith flew off, and they stepped out again. Faile, for the first time, saw Mordor in all its dark majesty. Across the pitted plain of Gorgoroth, Mount Doom shone like a beacon. Twenty five leagues, maybe. So close, and they would be done, and Faile could go home to her husband. Then north, the dark tower of Sauron. She could feel his Eye searching, looking for a threat to his kingdom, and Elrond's words crashed home. An army would have already been spotted. Or, if one with power had been sent, he would have been spotted and captured. Here, among the great, they would sneak in, as silent as mice, and end the threat of Sauron forever. Much like she had volunteered to bring the Horn to Shayol Ghul, she would be a spy in an enemy land.

First, they had to get off the mountain onto the plain. There was an inner range, it appeared, with a valley, more like a trench, between the two. The road behind them crawled over a bridge, then down, to join the main road from the Morgul Vale. They could walk along the side of it.

Sam raised the point of orcs finding them, but they needed speed. Frodo was weary and pale, and if he had to be carried, better on the road, rather than the trackless rocks. Hopefully, the Powers above would protect them. Sam eventually saw the point, though he grumbled. Faile led the way, while Sam brought up the rearguard, putting Frodo between them, and slowly, they began to make their way off the mountains of Mordor.

181818

Perrin rode slowly over the ruined bridge of Osgiliath. The sound of hammers were all around him, for Prince Imrahil had ordered the rebuilding of the bridge. The Prince himself rode beside him, and on the other side, Mat, speaking of the ride of the Rohirrim, while he in turned shared of the dark paths under the Mountain.

"I suppose you were not frightened?" Mat asked.

"Yes, but not as much as the Dwarf," Perrin said, mimicking the dwarf's rough voice. "An elf will go underground, but a dwarf will not."

"Aye, lad, I said that," Gimli said from behind. "There is no shame. Now the Dead have been released, we can explore the Mountain and its riches."

Perrin looked up, and humor died. Ahead, so close he rode in their shadow, Mordor's mountains raised black spires to the sky. Where was Faile in those mountains? She felt close enough to touch, and he almost wanted to use the wolf dream to find her. If he could. But then...then...what might happen if his abilitiies drew Sauron? He clenched his jaw and forced himself to look away as the mountains grew closer. A great gulf loomed up.

"Here lies Morgul Vale," Aragorn said, riding back to meet them. "Gandalf and I will ride forward. We will burn the sorcerous flowers and break the bridge behind us. Perhaps in time, it can be made clean once more."

Perrin could think of several ways that could be accomplished. He would try to help as best he might. "Let me go with you," he said. "I want to see this place for myself."

"He has the protection of nature," Legolas said when Aragorn looked as though he would disagree. "Even the very stones welcome him. He will be safe."

Aragorn nodded once, and Perrin heeled his horse forward. Soon they were in the dark gap between two high cliffs, and then they turned a corner. Perrin gasped to see the ruined city and the noisy fields of flowers. He felt the evil pressing on his mind, and the part of him that was a wolf pressing back. When Aragorn handed him a torch, he threw it hard at the flowers, eager to drown out their sound of madness. It was as bad as the Ways, maybe worse, and those memories still made him shudder. Slowly, the fields caught, and the sounds of madness faded.

Suddenly he noticed steps in the left hand cliff, leading up. "Is that?" he said.

Gandalf nodded. "Aye, the path to Cirith Ungol, the Spider's Lair."

"Spiders?" Perrin said in a small voice. "Faile is terrified of them."

"She is a queen," Gandalf said. "She would not fail the hobbits." Somehow, that encouraged Perrin. He sighed. Just seeing where his wife had gone encouraged his heart, in knowing she was still alive. He had to believe that. He had to. Soon, they would meet again, and he would help to heal her.

"We must go," he said. "Let us destroy this bridge. Soon, I hope, Aes Sedai of my own world can come and cleanse the ground, and it can be Minas Ithil once more."

"I pray so," Aragorn said. No more words were spoken as Gandalf, using his power, destroyed the white bridge through the demented flowers. Then, they turned and left. Mat asked him what he had seen. He could not answer. The sight of the city was still too horrible, and he was glad Mat had not seen it.

181818

Aragorn had to face a decision. As they drew closer to the Black Gate, many of the soldiers of Gondor and Rohan grew nervous. He could feel their fear growing. These were men from Lossarnach or the vales of Rohan, not accustomed to Sauron's evil. Yet he did not want to shame them.

It was the young man in the black coat who had a solution. "We fought to hold Cair Andros," Jahar said. "We should fight to hold it still. It is a task these soldiers can do, and keep their honor."

So Aragorn had sent those away who were frightened. Still, there were some eight thousand men when that approached the Black Gate over the slag fields of the Morannon. He looked up at it, angry that such a fortress existed. It had been built to keep the monsters of Mordor away from Gondor, when the Southern Kingdom was at its height. Now it was the opposite- safety for Mordor and a threat to Gondor.

He could see all his friends forming up behind him. Jahar and Damer, Thom and Moiraine, Tuon and Mat, Perrin and Teslyn, Halbarad, Prince Imrahil, Denethor and Eomer, Legolas and Gimli. Gandalf stood by Shadowfax, waiting. The time had come.

"Let the Lord of the Black Land come out!" Aragorn cried. "Let justice be done upon him."

He waited, facing the silence of the gate. Would Sauron himself come, with his nine fingers? Or an army or orcs? Or something else? The gate creaked open, and a figure walked out. Tall and clad in black mail. Aragorn had seen him in the paintings of Rivendell. His ancestor Isildur had fought him. Sauron himself had come. Behind him came his army, far greater than the one defeated on the Pelennor fields. Sauron had taken the bait and had emptied Mordor.

"To me!" he said. Then, turning to the men, he tried to rally them. If he could feel the evil coming, so could they. He would not let them fail. The words seemed to come to him, and he spoke them boldly.

"Hold your ground - hold your ground! Sons of Gondor - of Rohan . . . my brothers! I see in your eyes the same fear that would take the heart of me. The day may come when the courage of Men fails; when we forsake our friends and break all bonds of fellowship; but it is not this day - an hour of wolves and shattered shields, when the Age of Man comes crashing down - but it is not this day! This day we fight! By all that you hold dear on this good earth - I bid you stand! Stand, men of the West!"

There was no cheering. There could not be. But he was glad to see the fear receding. To those with power, he said, "Hold Sauron if you can. We will deal with the orcs and other monsters."

Moiraine nodded. "We will make a circle." At once, she was joined by Teslyn, Tuon, Jahar, and Damer. "We will do what we can." Immediately, he could feel their power, a storm of light growing ever brighter. Opening a gateway, they disappeared and appeared behind Sauron.

"For Frodo!" Aragorn whispered. It was taken up by a multitude of voices. "For Frodo." And then they charged, Anduril like a flame of fire. He felt like Orome of old, like the Valar in their hunt for Morgoth. There was a blink, and then they were among the horde of evil.

181818

Mat didn't expect to survive. Nor did he expect Tuon to. 'Is this how it ends?' he wondered, even as his ashanderei cut armor like paper. 'Is this our fate, to die in a strange world?' There were too many, even for him. He was the Son of Battles, but even he could not defeat Sauron by himself.

Perrin was beside him, roaring battle curses, his axe like the weapon of a great hero. Orc blood flew like rain. He could feel the Nazgul, hovering over the battle, and Sauron's greater evil as the Aes Sedai tried to stop him, but battle fever was on him. Every strategy in his head, every move of the sword and spear, he used, determined to sell his life dearly, and inspired by Aragorn's speech. He had come into his own at last.

In shattered glimpses, he saw the standard of Elendil to his left, where the fighting was hottest. Sauron had a personal guard of trolls, and the king was spinning almost too fast for his eyes to follow, cutting the great beasts wherever he could. He was amazed at Aragorn's strength and speed as he fought. But then, he was the promised king.

He moved, determined to help his king. Could he? Of course he could. He was the Son of Battles, and he would be a thorn to this dark lord. Motioning to Perrin, he nodded to the banner. Perrin nodded.

They had just about reached Aragorn when a premonition made him look up. He had heard of the giant eagles, but never seen them. Now his breath caught in wonder. The eagles were light as the Ringwraiths were dark, and they fought the dark shadows with claw and beak. The beasts fought back, but there were more eagles, a storm of light sweeping down from the sky. Mat had heard of the giant eagles, but never had he seen a sight so bright and so pure.

"Are you seeing this?" he yelled to Perrin.

Perrin nodded, and Mat grinned. Help had come at last.

181818

Feeling the evil of the Ring was like a fleabite next to the power and malice of its creator. Moiraine was nearly swept away before the balance firmed and she could stand. Sauron grinned down at her, and when he spoke, it was a boom of thunder. "You do not know with who you deal," he said, mockery in his voice. "Fighter of Forsaken. They are but novices."

"I saw the Dark One in the Pit of Doom," Moiraine said. "He is an enemy far worse than you."

"Even so, you might die," Sauron said. Moiraine heard the threat. "Can you stand against me, mortal woman?"

"And if I do, I will turn again on the Wheel," Moiraine said. "But you, you will be turned into a shadow, never again able to take shape. This is the last time you rise to trouble the world. Now!" she shouted, and took all that she could of the Power others were drawing. She threw it all at the Dark Lord, a spear of light for his heart. The balefire parted around him, though he blinked in surprise.

"You are powerful," he said. "But not powerful enough." He raised his mace and spun it, bringing it down. Moiraine was rocked back on her feet as the earth shook, and for a moment, she lost her focus. It was all that Sauron needed. The mace swung toward her, and pierced her shield before she could put it back up. Desperate, she tried to slow the blow she knew was coming. It hit, but not as hard as it could be. She winced and rubbed her jaw. She would have a bruise.

Drawing on more strength, she reinforced the shield and threw more balefire at the Dark Lord. Again it bounced off, and again he counterattacked, this time with fire. The shields bent, and held. Moiraine smiled, though she was tired. Sauron was far different than the Dark One. Shai'tan was passive, but Sauron was active, a moving menace. He did not look tired at all, and he was already approaching the limits of her strength.

"Hold as long as you can," she said, using the Power to make her voice boom. "The Ring must not fall back into the Enemy's hands." All had been let in on the ruse, and she smiled to see Sauron take the bait. He strode toward her, knocking men and orcs away from him.

"So you are the bodyguard to protect the new Ringlord," he said. "I have looked in the palantir of Feanor, and have seen Narsil reforged. His elvish blade will not help him. Neither will you. I have tortured and killed those far more powerful. You are but a shadow compared to Maedhros and Finrod, the kings of old."

Moiraine still wanted to smile, but could not. Sauron could not grow suspicious. She decided to taunt him back. "What of his heritage, Sauron the Cruel? The blood of Luthien and the power of Melian the Maia run in his veins. Earendil was his ancestor, whose plea brought the Lords of the West to defeat your master. Dare you treat him like some upstart? With the power of the Ring, he will defeat even you!"

She felt the shields bend as Sauron, enraged, beat at them. She did not think he would like hearing those names, and was glad to see she had captured his whole attention. Teslyn, standing next to her, smiled. If they could hold Sauron, Frodo would have a chance. Even to their own death, maybe. What would happen if she was killed here? She feared it would not be like her battle with Lanfear, but here, her death would be final. So be it. Maybe with her actions, she would be worthy to be a Hero of the Horn. She smiled at the thought.

"What do you smile about?" the dark spirit asked. "I will destroy you, and leave you naked before me for my pleasure. Bow before the Great Eye, or be destroyed utterly."

Moiraine felt a calm settle over her, a calm deeper than the void. Somehow, she knew they would win. "I will never serve you, Sauron," she said. She had felt the Power building around her, as those behind drew all they could hold. It was painfully sweet, and she knew they were all at the edge of burning themselves out. So be it. "Come, it is time to die."

With that, she pulled all she could of the Power, and threw it at the Dark Lord. Something snapped in her, and the world exploded in fire.

 **A/N: Short chapter, but I wanted to show how I think things would play out. Of course Mat is in his element, and Moiraine would hold back Sauron. I do think because of the Aes Sedai and Asha'man, that Sauron himself would take a hand. Unfortunately, he fell into the trap set for him. We will see if it is enough to keep him from Frodo.**

 **And, of course, I had to echo Rand's battle with Ishamael. That line still gives me chills. Let's hope that Moiraine doesn't get an unhealable wound like he did.**

 **Do the taunts work? I don't think Sauron would like hearing the names of his greatest enemies, and that was the point. I hope it came off well.**


	27. Chapter 27- Victory!

Faile looked over the plain of Mordor. She was in torment almost greater than she could bear. Not even the terrifying journey across the Blight had prepared her for this desert. Here, the danger was not the creatures that could bite or kill. It was not even the orcs that swarmed over the dark landscape. She had faced worse.

No, it was the thirst that was killing her. She had crossed over the inner fences of Mordor, the Morgai, keeping to the rocks and using her strength to lower Frodo and Sam down the rocky ledges into the palin below. In the rocks and crags, they had found forgotten streams, but now there was no more, except what had been captured in their waterbottles. And that had to be conserved for the long walk.

Another enemy she fought as well was deep despair. She could watch as Frodo slowly succumbed to the Ring, and it terrified her. Even if they did make it to the mountain of fire, did he have the strength to throw it in? She feared that at the end, the Quest would be a failure. She had to fight the temptation to give up, like Frodo wanted to.

Poor Sam tried to keep up everyone's spirits. She pretended not to see the fact that Sam ate almost nothing, pushing the food that should go to him on her and Frodo. He would often watch all night, even though she insisted that she could take watch herself. It almost made her want to laugh. The sturdy hobbit treated her like a queen and himself like a servant, and his behavior had grown more pronounced the more desperate their circumstances.

In reality, she had learned much in her captivity among the Shaido. One of her lessons was to serve. She was a queen, and she did not forget it. But she would be a queen that also looked after her own. The tug-of-war distracted her from the despair that tried to seep into them along with the poisonous fumes in the air.

She straightened, knuckling her back. She was in pain, and she had lost weight. But Orodruin was closer. Maybe fifteen leagues, and they would be at its base. Three days in the fume, maybe four, and they would be done with the Quest. Surely they could survive four days. Surely she could find the strength.

No words were needed. Slowly, they staggered off into the haze, she in front, Frodo in the middle and Sam in back. At first they made good time. Finally, though, Frodo stumbled. "I can't do it," he said weakly. "Even in Ithilien, the Ring was heavy. Now...it is a weight I can barely bear. I can't carry it and all of this as well." He gestured at his pack.

"Then we will lighten the load together," Faile said. She stripped off the orc gear and weapons and threw them into a hole in the ground. Frodo was no less eager, keeping only his belt and the cloak Galadriel had given him, Sting and the vial of light on his side. Sam hesitated, then went through his pack, taking out his pots and pans and his salt. He grimaced as he threw them away, and Faile knew he was thinking of the many times he had fed them.

Faile felt lighter, even though she had no weapons, only the horn she had been given. She had an idea it was important, and couldn't quite figure out why. Maybe it was the Pattern, working across the worlds to weave a web with her at the center. Now wouldn't that be odd?

It was as good of a resting place as any, and the little light that existed in Mordor was dying. Putting their packs under their heads as pillows, they tried to go to sleep. At least, Faile tried, but the ash and fumes of the barren landscape made it hard. So did her exhaustion. Usually, back in her own world, exhaustion would cause her to sleep well. Here, it did not. She rolled over, trying to look up. There was no light. Not even a star could pierce the fog Sauron wove around himself. The absence of light made her heart ache, and when she did finally fall asleep, her dreams were haunted by a flaming eye.

181818

Sam knew full well what was going on. Faile took care of others, just like Mister Aragorn. He knew that. But it was his place to serve. His place to take care of others. So he would continue to pull and tug to make sure they were taken care of.

And one thing that he wanted to take care of was Frodo and Faile's despair. He could see it growing in both of them. Frodo had the Ring, slowly driving him mad. And Faile's strength was finally failing. After so long fighting for them, someone had to fight for her.

"Mister Frodo," he said. "Come, eat a little. Lady Faile..have some of this water."

"And you?" she said, as always.

"I ate," he said. "I don't need anything." It was a small lie. He was hungry and thirsty. But they needed it more than he did. He was a hobbit. He would survive where Big People could not, and Mister Frodo was his master. He had to take care of him, like his father took care of Mister Bilbo.

Faile shook her head, but she nibbled a bit of lembas. They were closer now, after the last day's march, but Sam wondered how far they would get. Faile had circles under her eyes, and he wondered if she had even slept. And Frodo...Frodo looked awful. He looked...he almost looked like Gollum. The covetous expression in his eyes was frightening. He wondered if Frodo could give up the Ring, now that it was gaining such a hold.

"Don't give up, Mr Frodo," he whispered through cracked lips. "Don't give up."

Frodo looked at him, and for a minute, his eyes cleared. "Sam," he said. "Sam, this is the edge of doom." He got to his feet, and staggered off toward the mountain. Faile rose slowly. Her once fine dress hung in tatters. Even then, she looked a queen. Her face hardened, and she started after Frodo.

So the days wore away, as they slowly drew closer. Every day his thirst increased, until he imagined every stream he had ever seen. The thought of water danced for his torment behind his closed eyes. Especially distressing was the memory of dancing in the Water behind Bywater with Rosie Cotton.

"If there was anyone I would have married, it would have been her," he thought. He couldn't speak. He could hardly swallow. He touched his lips, where they had split, and drew them away bloody. Oh well. Soon his body would wear out anyway. He just had to get everyone to the end of the road.

181818

Frodo dragged his feet as he approached the base of the mountain. His head spun, and with every step, he wanted to fall on his face and give up the Quest. He was no longer sure what was reality, and what was fantasy. He no longer saw the mountain, except as through a curtain. All he really saw was the wheel of fire that he knew was the One Ring. He wanted that fire. He wanted...but he had come to destroy it.

Hadn't he?

Fantasies crawled at him, trying to consume his mind. Fantasies of him destroying Sauron, and leveling Barad-Dur. Fantasies of a free Shire, with no interfering Men. Had he really thought that Men were a danger? Of course, he knew the words of the Council, and how the strength of men had failed. Had he not seen it nearly with Boromir? He had almost given in to the Ring.

Or so his fears told him. Telling of his duty and how he was the only one who could fulfill it. He felt a tap on his shoulder and turned quickly. It was Faile, the Queen. She looked worried.

"Frodo, I know the Ring was given to you, but could I...simply to spare you the torment?" Her voice was so cracked he could hardly hear it, but he could see her hands extended. Immediately, Sting was in his hand. He did not even remember drawing it.

Faile drew back. "I don't want to claim it. Just to help you carry it to Mount Doom. It is tall, but so am I. Maybe I can't carry it, but I can carry you. You can barely stand."

Now he knew she was genuine. The part of his mind that could still feel embarressment was ashamed. Sheathing Sting slowly, he watched as she got down, bending nearly to her knees. Unsure, he hesitated, but she turned her head to look at her with the expression of a queen. Clasping his hands onto her shoulders, he wrapped his hairy feet around her legs.

Up Faile stood, slowly. He felt her trembling, and wondered if she could carry him. But then the trembling ceased. He felt her back harden. Sam's eyes shone with pride. He could not speak, but Frodo felt his pride, still, as they started up the mountain, going from feet to hands and feet, then a crawl as the slope quickly steepened. The sun, blurred by Sauron's fume and the smoke of Mount Doom, seemed to hang in the sky. Not that he could see it. His eyes could only see the rocks in front of them. Faile began to tremble again, but she refused to bend. She had told him, as they passed through Ithilian, of her captivity. This had to be harder, but she was made of stern stuff, for a Man. Still he saw the Wheel of Fire. He could claim it, and put the struggle to an end. The part of his mind that resisted was growing fainter.

Finally Faile fell to her knees and did not move. Sam was no better, laying almost as though dead. Frodo stood and looked around, and was amazed at how far they had come. The mountain, though high, was climbable. They were almost halfway to the top, and he could see a road.

He pointed, and Faile nodded. "One moment," she said. Draining the last of her water, she coughed for breath. Frodo, surprisingly, breathed easier. The fume in Gorgoroth was gone. They were above it, and the air felt almost cool and clean.

He went to Sam. His mind felt clearer, as though a burden was slowly being removed. "Up, Sam," he croaked. "We will soon be at the Cracks of Doom."

Sam nodded. "We will make it yet." Slowly, all three got to their feet, staggering up higher and higher toward the road. Soon they reached it. Frodo wanted to rest, but he knew if he sat down, he would never give up. Not despair, but his body quickly reaching the limit of its strength. He felt sudden doom upon them, and hurried faster. A piece of black stone seemed to fall off the mountain as he increased his pace, and he knew instinctively what it was, even as hands wrapped around his throat and a voice he never wanted to hear again whispered, "No, precious. Not that way!"

But though Gollum's voice was still evil, his strength was gone. Frodo rose, and there was no pity left in him as he looked down at the fallen hobbit. "Begone, Smeagol," he said. "If you trouble me again, you will be thrown into the Cracks of Doom." He was shocked. It was as though another voice, a voice no longer moved by pity, had taken over him.

Gollum blinked, and then bound away. Faile nodded toward the door yawning in front of them. "Finish this business," she said. "We will hold him off if he comes back for you."

Frodo nodded and hurried as much as his body could, into the hole in the mountain. He had come at last, and soon, he stood over the pit that Isildur had stood at. Slowly, he brought out the Ring. It was a beautiful thing, pleasant and desirable, and why should it be destroyed? But he had come to destroy it. It was time...time to do this deed. He held the Ring out over the chasm, but he could not let it go. For a long time he stood there, frozen.

He heard feet behind him, and knew that his friends had come. Suddenly his mind was clear, clear as it had ever been. He held up the Ring. "I have come," he said. "But I choose not to do this thing! The Ring is mine!" Snapping it from its chain, he put it on his finger, and at once, the world changed.

He could see the Black Tower, but the one he expected to see was not there. His eye stretched, and he saw Sauron, terrible and cruel, tremble as wave after wave of white fire flowed around him. Suddenly, he vanished, and Frodo could feel the dark presence coming toward him, come to stop him. The whole mountain seemed to shake, and he suddenly knew he did not have the strength to claim the Ring.

He trembled in turn, and covered the Ring with his other hand, feeling for one blessed moment clarity of thought. Then dank, slimy arms wrapped around him once more, and he was too busy fighting to see Gorthaur the Accursed approach. He was desperate, but so was Gollum. Slowly, they moved toward the edge. Teeth clamped at him, and suddenly, the Ring was gone, and Gollum was holding something up. The sudden pain in his hand told him what. For one moment, Gollum hung on the edge, dancing in glee, then he was gone.

A dark shadow filled the entry to the cave, and Frodo prepared for torture or worse. Suddenly the shadow was gone, and so was the madness that had filled his mind. Suddenly he was Frodo one more, the hobbit of the Shire. He looked down, and could see nothing but white fire.

"So it is done," Faile said, pale as a sheet of paper.

"Even Gollum had a part to play," Frodo said weakly. "But for him, the Ring would not have been destroyed. At the last, I could not...I could not do what I had come to do." He could say no more. His mind and heart were filled with shame. The heat and trembling reminded him that with Sauron gone, his kingdom was also failing.

Sam looked toward the entrance, and Frodo nodded, feeling sudden hope fill him. Together, the three ran toward the entrance, Frodo determined to get as far as he could before the end.

 **A/N: So it is done! The book doesn't show much of Frodo's thoughts at the end, but considering Gollum's state, I imagine it is nearly a state of schizophrenia. I did not want to dwell too much on it for obvious reasons, but I do hope I showed the near despair of all of them, and Frodo especially. I also wanted to show how the Ring had consumed him.**

 **Even though we did not see Gollum for many chapters, I wanted to show that he had a part still to play. It would make no sense for him to be spared by everyone from Bilbo on if the climactic moment at the Cracks of Doom did not occur.**

 **Could it have been as close as Sauron standing at the very door? I believe so. Sauron at the end knew what his enemies were up to, and the book makes that very clear. Using his powers as a Maiar, he could very well have tried to stop his own destruction. Had he succeeded, it would have been quite unpleasant for Frodo, to say the least. It is also clear that Sauron's destruction was immediate, even as the Ring was destroyed.**

 **I can see the light at the end of the tunnel. I predict a few more chapters. There is a coronation, after all! And a Scouring, I think, though that might belong to the sequel. I have not yet decided. Still, the end is upon us. I hope my readers have enjoyed this project as much as I have enjoyed writing it!**


	28. Chapter 28- Honoring Heroes

Perrin blinked. He had seen the Aes Sedai fighting with a huge figure that he assumed to be Sauron, and then, he had disappeared from the battle. Soon after, all the orcs and other monsters had simply thrown down their arms.

He had hardly dared to hope that Frodo and Sam and Faile had succeeded. It had been so long since they had heard any word, and his heart at had times despaired. Now, though, he felt sudden hope. He watched as the gates and towers made by Sauron fell, and the fumes and smoke of Mordor began to roll back.

The eagles still hovered over the battlefield, and Perrin couldn't help looking at them in wonder. He had never seen such noble birds. Suddenly an arm wrapped around him. Gandalf. He turned to face the wizard.

"Did we win?" Perrin said.

"We did, my boy, but the one you love is still in danger, as well as Frodo and Sam. We will rescue them." Gandalf waved his arms, and Perrin saw, really saw, the destruction of Sauron's kingdom. He looked at the eagles again, and Gandalf nodded.

"Yes. We will fly the beasts of Manwe." Perrin wasted no time, running toward the nearest eagle, who had landed and bowed his great head. Perrin, for a moment, worried about his bulk, but the eagle remounted smoothly, taking to the air with great flaps of his wings. Gandalf rode beside him, on another eagle even more magnificent, and another followed. Of course. There were three.

Perrin was astonished at the desolation. Everywhere, there was destruction. A pile of stone next to a spur of the mountains he took to be the ruins of the Black Tower, and other fortresses he could see, all crumbled into piles of rubble. But it was the fiery mountain he fixed his eyes on.

"There," he said. "Look! Next to that crag!" His eyes were watering from the heat and the smoke, but he was sure he saw Faile, at least. The two small shapes beside her had to be the hobbits.

Down flew the eagles, toward the heat of an open oven. Snatching up the fallen, they were soon away. Perrin looked down, but though the talons of the great beasts were sharp, Faile was carried as safely as though by his own arms. He was worried for a moment, for she was as pale as paper, but then she let out a groan. He relaxed, knowing she would soon be in Aragorn's capable hands.

181818

Aragorn had been worried when Gandalf had disappeared, taking Perrin with him, but then he realized what must have happened. Eomer, and most of the Gondorians, were taking care of the fleeing men of Harad and the East, but Imrahil, and those from the other world, still stood beside him. The Aes Sedai were as pale as paper, and even the men looked as though they had seen Morgoth himself. He would honor them, for they had used their powers to hold Sauron at bay. Without them, the battlefield would be one of greater dead.

Damer spoke first. "Gandalf goes to gather Faile and Frodo and Sam?"

Aragorn's voice was crisp. "Yes. But I can ask no more of you. You dared your very lives, seeking to hold the Accursed at bay."

Moiraine nodded. "True. We are drained, and we must heal ourselves, but for those three, Frodo most of all, urgent care is needed. If I felt so fouled just by touching the Ring, how much more by Frodo carrying it to Mordor itself?"

Imrahil, who had been standing nearby, nodded at once. "We will move away from the battlefield as soon as it is prudent, but for now, I agree with the Lady Moiraine. My soldiers have a pavilion. There, you can have privacy in your work."

Aragorn nodded. He was thankful. No sooner had the pavilion been set up then the flapping of wings could be heard. Jahar had managed a small gateway, and a soldier had been sent through to find more athelas at the Houses of Healing. Jahar would open it again in a few moments. All was ready.

He was surprised by Denethor. The older man had given good account of himself, moving like a man half his age, and now stood respectfully. "I may not agree with your rule, but I agree with healing." He dipped his head. "Perhaps I can aid in some small way."

Aragorn smiled. "Of course. Please." His spirit was warmed. Soon the three were brought in, and Aragorn hitched a breath. All three were covered with wounds on top of wounds, and he hardly knew where to begin. He wished Elrond had come, for the Firstborn were masters of the healing arts.

"I may not be Lord Elrond, but I will aid as I can," a woman's sharp voice said. The tent flap opened, and a slight figure pushed in. She wore a long braid, and she tugged on it irritably. Behind her, a man stood, a warrior of warriors, hand resting on the pommel of a sword. Both wore silver filaments, showing their royalty.

Aragorn gasped. He knew who they were. Faile had told him of the rulers of their world. "King Lan," he said, bowing. "Queen Nynaeve."

"King Aragorn," Lan said back. "Uncrowned ruler of Gondor and Arnor." He dipped his own head, and Nynaeve sniffed.

"Men. Talking pleasantries when people lie near to death." There was no malice in it, however. "Here. Let me see them." She pushed her way in, not angrily, but with insistence, much like Elrond had done many a time.

"If you are going to stay," she said, "make yourselves useful. At least clean up all this grime and ash so I can see where their wounds are." At that, Denethor stepped forward, knife in hand. His movements were practiced as he cut off their clothes, and soon, water was in hand. He washed them gently, and Aragorn was glad to see the habits of a father had not yet completely abandoned the Steward. After it was done, he bowed his way out.

Lan stayed, as Aragorn knew he must. The soldier soon came back, holding three leaves. Aragorn took them with a nod of thanks. Nynaeve was busy, silently examining the three, but he knew she was seeing with more than her eyes. She looked over at him.

"Herbs. Good." She reached for them, but Aragorn held them back.

"They will not be used as you might think," he said. "In my world, athelas has power against the Shadow. Look, and you will see." Taking a new basin of hot water, he crushed the dried leaves and sprinkled them over the liquid. Nynaeve frowned and breathed deep.

"I was worried when I came," she said. "Fearful that my friend, the Queen, was dead. But now I am not." She breathed again and straightened. "Can we make an infusion they can drink? I can feel the Shadow on them."

Even Lan seemed to stand straighter, if that was possible. "Can it be done?" he asked. In his stern eyes was concern and compassion.

"It can be," Aragorn said. Carefully, he steeped the mixture until the water was nearly green, then poured it into a metal cup. Handing the cup to Nynaeve, he helped hold up Faile first. Gently, Nynaeve opened the other queen's mouth. She dribbled the mixture, and Faile swallowed. Next was Sam, then Frodo.

"I will leave the bowl here so you can breathe it," he said. "And if it allowable, I will send the others of your order in so they can breath it as well. They are unhurt, but they dared to stand against the Dark Lord, holding him so that the battle could be won."

Nynaeve nodded. "Yes. They are Aes Sedai. They may even be able to aid me. For the one without one finger, especially, time is critical. He is made of stern stuff, that I can tell, but he fades still. Later, I will hear the whole story." She dipped her head to him, a queen acknowledging a king.

When he exited the pavilion, the sun was beginning to set. The work of cleaning the battlefield was beginning, and many of the dead had already been laid to rest. Perrin had eyes only for him.

"She lives," he said in response to the unspoken question. "So do the hobbits. But what they did took them to the very edge of death. King Lan and his wife are there now, doing what only they can do."

"I saw Nynaeve," Perrin said slowly, "but she did not see me. How she came, I do not know, but I am glad. I cannot believe...but we did, didn't we?" He looked toward Mordor. The haze was gone, and the sunset was turning the peaks of the Ephel Duath to gold.

Aragorn nodded. "Yes. At last, the struggle with Sauron is over."

"Does that mean you will now be king?" Perrin said. "As I helped reforge your sword, I will help make your crown."

"Nay to both," Aragorn said. "I will be king, but not yet. Not until all is set in order for my rule. As for the crown, I will wear, if it can be found, the old crown of the Kings of Gondor." He nodded to the Aes Sedai and Asha'man, who had come around him. "Go into the pavilion. You stood directly against Sauron, and need to be cleansed. Your fellow sister will see to that. Then, when you are refreshed, we will eat."

None said anything, but filed into the tent. Thom and Mat came up and stood beside Perrin.

"So it is over?" Mat asked finally. "Sauron is defeated at last?"

Aragorn could only smile. It was answer enough.

181818

Thom waited for his wife. He had not been hurt in the battle, but then, he had somehow stayed at the edges of it. He had killed a few orcs, was all. He had almost felt jealous, until Sauron had come. From Moiraine's shock, and then her fierce anger, he knew where she had been, and counted himself blessed she had survived.

But survived she had. He strummed the strings of his harp contentedly. They had won, and now all would be well. "What happened to the eagles?" he said. "I saw them come, but I did not see them leave."

"They spoke to Gandalf," Mat said. "Apparently, they had been ranging even to Mordor, and had seen our trap. Gandalf saved their chieftain's life, and proud birds as they are, they felt they owed him in return. So they came when they saw the Nazgul. After they brought the three off of Mount Doom, they felt their debt fulfilled. They go back to their homes in the mountains."

Perrin hummed. "Flying one...I can see the thrill of the Seanchan on their raken. To see with the eyes of birds."

"I will add your account to all the others," Thom promised. "And talk to your wife, when she has recovered."

"I doubt she will have much to tell," Perrin said grimly. "Mordor is what Sauron made it. Even if the Aes Sedai come in force, it will be many years before it is green again."

Thom shaded his eyes against the sunset. Clouds had come over Mordor, and it appeared rain was falling. "Maybe not as long as you think," he said. Perrin followed his gaze and smiled.

Mat grinned. "I feel like a drink," he said. "I wonder if anyone has some decent wine."

Thom laughed and strummed something lighthearted. It felt right. After all, they had won the war. "And maybe a game of dice, like the old days?" he said. "When all we had to worry about was some Trollocs and a Fade or two?"

Even Perrin laughed at that. "I might even throw the dice myself," he said. "Of course, we can also help put things in order for Aragorn. He will soon come into his own."

Mat nodded, turning serious. "Yes. And I think our own realms will need us. With traffic going between the two worlds, we should return soon. We have fulfilled our promises. I don't fancy returning and finding the Seanchan split in half. I am their prince, still."

Thom smiled. "You are royalty after all." Mat scowled, but Thom knew he was finally learning responsibility.

Perrin nodded. "Mat is right. Saldaea is in order, and there are some strong lords to make sure it is maintained, but there are some things only a king can do." He sighed, appearing put-upon, but Thom knew he had grown to enjoy ruling.

"And Moiraine is the Steward of Cairhien," he said. "I am sure Elayne would not be happy if it had reverted to civil war. After all, there are notes to write…" he twirled his dagger in his fingers, "and people to take care of."

"So we return as soon as we can?"

"After the coronation," Perrin said. "We can at least wait until then. Until then, let us help Aragorn put his new kingdom in order."

181818

Faile woke slowly. She remembered the slopes of Mount Doom, then...nothing. This did not feel like burning rock. Had she died? But no, she felt pain, not the bliss she expected after death. Carefully, she reached out her hand, and touched something that felt like ivory.

"The horn Galadriel gave you," said a very welcome voice. Faile looked up into a bearded face. One that she loved.

"Perrin," she said. "Oh, sweet Perrin."

"I was worried," he said. "Even Nynaeve doubted her healing would be enough, but you are tough, Faile. You pulled through, with her help, and the help of the Elves, and I waited for you to wake."

"How long?" she said, memory crashing back.

"Nearly ten days," Perrin said. "The hobbits will recover as well, at least as well as the skill of elves can make them. And Elrond discovered something else…" his eyes widened. "You, my queen, are going to be a mother."

Faile felt shocked, and struggled to sit up. "How? I was apart from you for nearly two months. I would have felt…" But then she remembered. Her cycles had not come. She thought it might have been stress, but it was something more joyous after all. Her face fell. "It is too bad Gandalf could not have known."

"But I do," another voice said. "And I am pleased. Very pleased."

"I must be dreaming," Faile said as she turned her head the other way, looking into Gandalf's deep eyes. "I saw you fall."

"That is what Perrin said too," Gandalf said with a laugh. Faile looked in his face. The lines of care were still there, but underneath was a fountain of mirth, enough to set all of Middle-Earth singing.

"And I suppose Aragorn has accepted his destiny and will become king?" she managed.

"Of course," Perrin said. "And the Ring is destroyed. Frodo fulfilled his quest. Thanks in no small part to you." His face grew stern. "But do not ever leave like that again! I thought you had died!"

Faile felt she deserved some of his anger, and meekly nodded. "I will not, dear husband," she said. "Now help me up. We are not in Mordor anymore, unless there are rivers there I did not see." The sound of water had been intruding on her ears.

"No," her husband said as he helped her sit. "Though there soon will be. It has been raining over Mordor ever since Sauron fell. I have no doubt growing things will soon return there. Almost as though one of the Valar lent a hand." His eyes crinkled, but there was still sadness in them, and a wariness. There was something he was not telling. "To answer your question, we are on the banks of Anduin, just on the edge of Ithilien."

"I thought I smelled wild herbs," she said. "Many were the times Sam cooked rabbit for us as we walked through that beautiful garden toward Mordor."

"Tell me more," Perrin said. So she did. Gandalf had gone, and it was deep night before he returned.

"The hands of the king are the hands of a healer," he said. "Aragorn worked long with Nynaeve, and though you are healing, you were nearly at the point of death. You should rest, Faile. There will be much time to tell stories. And to...do other things." He cast them a wink before walking off.

"Why, Perrin Aybara, can the thought of that still make you blush?" Her husband looked a little red around the ears. "I myself feel as forward as a farmgirl at harvest, though...I don't think I have the strength yet." She was tired, and she was sure the baby was part of that, too.

"Then sleep, my falcon," Perrin said, pulling up the blanket and tucking her in as though she was a child herself. "Sleep, and heal." It was the last thing Faile heard, before the deepest sleep she had ever known stole over her.

181818

Gimli looked around at the Lonely Mountain. He had wanted to return to collect some dwarven smiths. He had made a promise to Aragorn that, should he accept his destiny, Minis Tirith would be rebuilt. But there was another reason that he wished to return.

Though the Ring was destroyed, the armies surrounding his home were not. Jahar, scouting, had seen the Easterlings surrounding Dale and Erebor. He had offered to come, and Gimli had agreed. Though he still would not explain what only the two of them could do.

He saw a figure waving to him as he climbed toward the Front Gate. It was his father. He hurried faster, and collided with Gloin. "Lad, it is good to see you back. We hear...that Sauron is no more."

"The Ring is destroyed, though I had little part. Is there ale? The telling will be long."

"Of course," Gloin said. "These cursed Easterlings have not taken what is inside the mountain. And who is with you?"

"This is Jahar Narishma, a good man and a great warrior. We thought you might need help."

Gloin squinted. "I thought I saw you," he said. "My eyes are not as good as they used to be, but, Mahal's beard, were you not the one I saw a few days ago?"

He heard Jahar behind him. "It was I. Peace favor your axe, Lord Gloin."

Gloin was gruff, though Gimli could see his father's approval. "He's a polite one, for sure," he said. "Well, come on. The Easterlings are growing bolder, and I don't want to find an arrow in my helmet."

Gloin turned to Jahar. "Did you bring it?" he said.

Jahar patted the wrapped bundle he carried. "Yes. It was not easy, but my brothers...loaned it to me." There was a story in that sentence, and Gimli wondered what it might be.

Gimli felt sad that Boromir would never enjoy the hospitality of the dwarves, as he had promised, but glad there was someone else he could share the dwarve's fabled table. Jahar was abstemious, knowing there was battle to come, but he partook of everything else. He asked many questions about Bilbo, and Gloin was happy to answer.

It was night when the feasting wound down, and Jahar smiled grimly. "It is time," he said. "While it is night, and what I do will surprise them." Carefully, he unwrapped the bundle. Gimli caught his breath, and Gloin was not far behind. Jahar had spoken of the Sword that was Not, but nothing had prepared them for the reality. It would be the work of Mahtan himself, or Telchar even, to craft its like. Smooth crystal, it took the light of the moon and reflected it.

"Can I?" Gloin breathed.

"Of course," Jahar said. "For you, it would merely be a sword, and I doubt you would wish to hurt me."

Gloin picked it up slowly and touched the edge. He brought away his finger quickly. "Crystal would dull its edge," he said, "yet it is still sharp. You said this is old?"

"Three thousand years and more," Jahar said. Gimli touched it himself, and drew his thumb away bloody.

"You could use it as a weapon. Why is it called the Sword that is Not?"

"Its power is not in its blade," Jahar said. "Now I must take it back."

Gloin handed it back, and immediately, the sword began to glow. It grew brighter, and Gimli shaded his eyes. Brighter still it grew, and lit up the hastily assembled warriors that waited for the signal Gloin would give. Gimli gripped his own axe in anticipation. What Jahar planned was both crafty and clever.

Now Jahar stood at the middle of a globe of light, and in the middle, a bolt of lightning far brighter than anything in nature. He sighed, and released it. At once, rings and arrows of fire began to shoot from his fingers toward the enemy camp. Tall doors of formless red, opening and closing, came after, then another wave of arrows.

Jahar sighed, and at once, the sword was dull crystal once more. Gloin yelled, and now, silent dwarves were racing down the mountain, but not faster than the arrows and doors. Torches began to appear, and faintly, Gimli could hear the screams of men. He was running, a silent shape surrounded by more silent shapes. The men in the camp looked around, confused, at the arrows that burned through them, leaving them to fall.

Horns began to blow, but the dwarves gave no chance for them to organize. Gimli's axe rose and fell, as he hacked through the disorganized defenders. It was too much. They were retreating, fleeing as though Sauron was chasing them, leaving everything behind but their own smallclothes.

Gimli squatted, amazed. A single man with a sword of light had done what not even hardened dwarves could do. He was also disgusted. The arrows and doors of fire did bloody work. Body parts scattered the camp. For the first time, he felt what Jahar must have felt, using magic to kill and destroy as not even Gandalf could dream. He was sure Jahar would want a drink.

He was right, and for the first time, a dwarf had to help a man get to bed.

181818

Legolas braced himself. The young black lady, fire in her eyes, had opened the gate. What Mat saw in her, he still could not see, but they loved each other. Perhaps it had started as a prophecied message, but not anymore. Such was his desire to make sure she had not even been touched by the Enemy. That had been terrifying, to see Sauron himself, as though the very sun was turning black.

Then they had triumphed, or close. The Ring was destroyed, and the shadow of Mordor had been rolled back. He wondered about his own people, but scouts going through gateways had assured that all was well, and his people had won all their battles. Rather, Aragorn had sent him to the Havens to check on things there, and to invite Cirdan to his coronation.

He heard the crying of gulls for the second time, and sighed. He knew now that he would one day travel to the Havens, and not return. The sea-longing, once it was awakened, could not be quieted. Still, he stepped through before Tuon could comment.

The Havens were quiet, and Cirdan's tower looked as any elven building should. In the courtyard, a group of horsed figures was preparing to ride out. It looked like women, surrounded by a group of men. Maybe Cirdan already knew about Aragorn and the Ring, but he would make sure.

The group left before he could get there, riding to the south. He shrugged, though he felt as though something was odd. Such a large group was rare for elves. Cirdan was in the courtyard, and greeted Legolas with respect.

"Some of your people?" he asked.

"No. Some women that know some women of your company." The Lord of the Havens was tall, and Legolas felt like a child. He was one of the first of all elves, who had awakened at the Waters of Cuivenan, while Legolas was much younger. Legolas was also shocked at the fact that more Aes Sedai had come.

"If they came to fight, they are too late. Sauron is defeated and his armies are scattered."

"No. They come to explore, and learn about our world. Although they sent a healer. Apparently, someone on their world thought she was needed." Cirdan's brows furrowed. "Humans have grown on their world, and are nearly my equal."

"The rule of men begins, and we fade," Legolas said. "But that was by design of the One. Can messages be sent that there will be a coronation? For Aragorn Elessar will soon come into his own, and take his place as king."

Cirdan nodded. "It will be done." His eyes wrinkled. It was unusual for an elf to show so much emotion. He spoke slowly. "It has been over a thousand years since a king has sat on the throne of Men. It would be an honor beyond compare to come."

"Midsummer. There will be time to ride. Although, if you wish, I can have you at Minis Tirith tomorrow."

"I wondered how you came so fast," Cirdan said. "The Noldor made the Palintir, but men discovered how to bend space itself. What other marvels might come to pass? No, Legolas, Prince of Mirkwood, I and my people will ride."

Legolas nodded. "I will return. One boon, though, Aragorn asks of you. He asks that you send some elves to make Minis Tirith beautiful. There is a lack of growing things."

"As Numenor was made beautiful from us, so we will do for the City of Kings," Cirdan said. Now his eyes were sad. "It will be our last gift to men."

181818

Teslyn smiled as she leaned against Halbarad. She was tall, but he was a strong man, and she felt safe with him. She would not say that she loved him, but it was right to bond him. His fierce determination, so like his cousin, had given her strength to stand against Sauron. Of course, it had worked the other way, as well. The tall Ranger had said that he had fought with the energy of two men. The hill of orcs that she had seen around him was testament to his words.

She thought that, like the Dark One, Sauron would poison her. But it had not been so. The tiny hobbit had saved her, before damage could be done. She looked down on Frodo. He had still not woken, though he lay in a deep sleep. Aragorn said he would wake, and from her own Delving, he was right.

"His sacrifice should not be forgotten. When we return to our people...we need to talk about that. I cannot stay here forever, Halbarad. Those that I protect will need me."

"I am your protector," Halbarad said. "The void has been bridged, and I will be able to return. But where you go, I must follow."

It was enough. "Thank you, Halbarad. You were willing to give up your life for me." She knew it was his sacrifice, bridge between worlds notwithstanding. They would rarely return, for the Seanchan would consume her.

Halbarad merely waved his hand. "It was my promise. Maybe Aragorn will make me the ambassador to your world. With greater traffic will come the need for treaty and trade. As cousin to a king, it is ideal, is it not?"

Teslyn nodded. She was sure Greys would be sent the other way, to rulers of dwarf and elf and man alike. A stirring made her turn. Frodo was moving and opening his eyes. As though summoned, Gandalf entered.

"Go," he said. "I will keep watch, and there are words I must say to Frodo, before there is a celebration. All has been made ready, and you need only announce the good news."

They had heard rustling all morning. Frodo would be honored, and Thom had already composed his song, Frodo of the Nine Fingers. Faile had told him everything. Or almost. There were some things she had not said, no matter how Thom had pressed. Teslyn was glad. The description of Mordor, and what the Ring had nearly done, was not encouraging. And there were other wonders. The Riding of the Rohirrim and the slaying of the Witch-King were key, and she was still amazed.

They slipped out before Frodo could speak. Sam stood outside the tent, and his eyes lit up.

"Yes," Halbarad said. "He is awake. Go to your master, little halfling." Sam needed no encouragement, and slipped in. Aragorn was not far behind, and Gimli and Legolas, having accomplished their errands, soon heard. So did Pippin and Merry.

It seemed right, somehow. They were the ones who belonged to this land. Teslyn had helped, but she was not of Middle-Earth. They ran into Imrahil, who bowed. "Lady Teslyn," he said.

"Lord Imrahil," Teslyn replied. "The Ringbearer is awake. Soon, the celebration will begin."

Imrahil's face creased in a smile. "All is ready. There are seats for you and your Warder." He led them to two chairs. One was carved with the sign of the Aes Sedai, the Flame of Tar Valon, overlaid with a chain for the Red Ajah. The other was taller, for Halbarad's height, and on the back was carved a single fluttering cloak, symbol of the Warder bond.

Teslyn took her place, and so did Halbarad. In front of them were four smaller chairs, she assumed for the hobbits. Next to her was Faile, still looking a little pale, and next to her, Perrin. Across the aisle, Mat, Tuon, and Moiraine were placed. A chair next to them, carved with a wizard's staff, showed where Gandalf would be seated. In front of them were chairs for Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli. Damer and Jahar were not forgotten, nor were Eomer and Denethor. Those chairs were behind where she and Halbarad sat. Across the aisle from them were chairs for Faramir and Eowyn, as well as Imrahil. Teslyn noticed how the Princess of Rohan and the Steward's son were shyly clasping hands. Apparently love was blooming with the downfall of Sauron. She couldn't help giving them a wink. Eowyn shyly smiled back.

Soon, a commotion was heard. Aragorn came first, followed by Legolas and Gimli. Next came the two younger hobbits. Gandalf came next, and clasping each of his hands were Frodo and Sam. At their approach, a cheer went up that shook the ground, and in many languages, the hobbits were praised. Then Thom stood forward. "By your leave, lords and ladies, elves and hobbits, dwarves and men, I beg to tell of Nine-Fingered Frodo and the Ring of Doom."

And so the afternoon passed, and Thom wove the tale of Frodo. At the end, Teslyn was ready to bow. That Sauron himself was standing at the very door...she shivered, before she remembered that Sauron was no more. And so Thom finished with triumph. After that, everyone rose and bowed toward the hobbits, then began to disperse for the celebration. There was another to come, she knew, for the tall man who laughed and spoke with all, but today was for the hobbits. They surely deserved it.

181818

From behind a tree, the man watched. The single saa in his eye hung motionless, and he smiled as he heard the tale of sorrow and victory. He would not have passed through, but he wanted to see this newly discovered land at least once, and what better time than a celebration?

He had sent the rain on the barren lands of Sauron, with the help of some of the Windfinders. It had been more than he expected, and he was sure the guardian spirits of the land had added their own. Now, he reached out, humming softly. This was a green land, and he had to give only a small nudge. Just past the pavilion for the feast, white began to bloom, the symbelmine. As it marked death in Rohan, it would mark life here.

Moiraine turned her head, as though sensing him. He gave a single nod, and saw her mouth come up to her face before he walked away. He should have done that long since, he knew.

Stepping back through the gateway, he felt arms around him. Aviendha smiled, and in their cribs, four babies squealed. Everywhere he went, there was life. He could ask for no greater gift.

"Will you return?" the new Roofmistress of Rhuidean asked.

"I will," said the man once known as Rand Al'Thor. "For the elves and dwarves are fading, and the time of men has come. I will look on the fulfillment of prophecy. Will you come?"

"Yes," Aviendha said. "I will."

Rand wrapped his arms around her. "Perhaps now, two worlds can be at peace."

 **A/N: I am beginning to shift back toward Rand's world now. As Mat said, they fulfilled all their promises, and it is time for them to return. Nearly all of them are rulers, and their countries will need them. Still, there will be a coronation, and it will be well attended.**

 **Three guesses on who sent Nynaeve, and the last two don't count. Is there anything wrong with a little...nudge from time to time? Especially to help heal the land and its inhabitants?**

 **This is more of the aftermath from the battle, and a general catching up. I also wrapped up a loose end that bothered me from the Wheel of Time. I think you can see where it is. Also, with Faile always being as forward as a farmgirl at harvest, she had to get in the family way sooner or later. Maybe the baby will have a Middle-Earth name?**


	29. Chapter 29- The Return of the King

Elrond rode slowly. He felt...old. Though he was immortal, he knew his time was quickly coming to leave the shores of Middle-Earth. The great ones of Rivendell rode beside him, and next to him rode his daughter.

His daughter. He remembered when she was born, when he and Celebrian had held her in their arms, and the twins had sworn to protect her. No less than he.

Then had come Estel, and stolen her heart. He remembered Tuor and Idril, and had been born not long after Beren and Luthien had died the final death. Oh, they had not been happy, not at the end, and he feared Arwen would be unhappy along with them.

Still, he had given his word to Aragorn, so long ago. And Aragorn had triumphed over Sauron. It was time to let his daughter go.

"What do you think of, Ada?" Arwen asked. Her voice, small, had always woken his protective instincts. He had to blink back a tear.

"I was thinking of you, and what a beautiful elf you have become," Elrond said. "You will make Aragorn very happy. But...I will be separated from you beyong the ending of the world, unless the fate of men is different than I have been told."

"I believe that in the end, all will be reunited and made right." Arwen's voice gained confidence. "I do not believe it is the will of Eru Iluvatur that all be separated forever."

Elrond hoped his daughter was right. He pretended to blink dust out of his eye, and knew he was fooling no one. The Lord of Rivendell had always been sentimental toward his children with the same love that smote all evil.

His eyes looked up, and saw a twinkle of white. They had crossed the Misty Mountains some days before, riding slowly. Now, he knew, they approached the City of Kings. Unconsciously, he spurred his horse a little faster.

181818

Mat paced slowly across the room given to him. Aragorn had put all of them in the finest halls that Minis Tirith had to offer, next to the Tower of Ecthelion itself, and he was thankful. He was also restless. Some very special guests were set to arrive.

Tuon looked up from where she was getting dressed. "Sit down, Matrim," she said in her queen's voice. "Elayne will be suitably impressed with the city. I am, and Seander may be even greater than Caemlyn."

"It's not that," Mat said. He was not nervous, but irritated. Elayne was bringing someone else. He was not in the same body, but those eyes…

Tuon nodded. "He had his reasons. Knowing him, he has not been idle."

Mat smiled. "No, he could never be." It was true. Whatever the face, Rand's heart beat protectively. He had no doubt that Rand was behind some of the events immediately following Sauron's defeat. Green had finally come to Mordor, and Faile, on seeing the Black Land with a new face, had scratched her head.

Trumpets from below the city below showed that all the guests had come. "Perrin and Faile are already down below," Tuon said, neatly buttoning the last clasp. Her head had been freshly shaved, and she looked every inch the Empress. "Shall we join them?"

"Of course," Mat said. He had allowed himself to be dressed in simple finery, with a touch of lace at his wrists. One side of his head was shaved, to show his position as Prince of the Ravens. Still, he took up his ashanderei, newly polished. Anything could happen, and he wished to be prepared.

Arm in arm, they walked out into bright sunshine. It was the perfect day for a crowning. Every square was filled, and every house seemed to have streamers waving from the windows. Life had been brought back to the city with the defeat of Sauron. Too, the elves and dwarves had been busy. The gates had been reworked by the dwarves with mithril and steel, and newly planted trees showed the influence of elvish gardeners. It could almost rival Tar Valon. Almost.

An area had been roped off for Traveling, and Tuon opened the gateway. They stepped through to a sea of faces. Gloin had made the long journey from Erebor, and young King Brand from Dale. From the Havens, Cirdan, with the Aes Sedai who were exploring. From Lothlorien, Galadriel and Celeborn, and Loial, notebook even now in his hands. From Mirkwood, Thranduil.

The air split, and together, Logain and Cadsuane walked through. Logain was in his best black, his hair neatly combed, with the dragon and sword high on his chest. Cadsuane was imposing in her stole of office, and her ornaments that were than ornaments in her hair. Her Keeper, Leane, was with her, and Mat grinned to see that beautiful Domani face.

Again the air split, and Aviendha pushed her way through. Someone had made a sort of chair on wheels, but Mat had no doubt that she could fight as well from a sitting position as standing. Mat wondered what she had done beyond the Last Battle, besides having Rand's children, but she carried an air of authority she had not had before.

The pause was longer, and Mat was about to speak when the air split once more. Three more figures could be seen on the other side. A tall man with black hair had his arms around two women. One looked almost like a boy, although the ornamented dress belonged on no man. The other was striking, with masses of golden-red curls and a fine figure.

The man spoke to both of them, and then they stepped through together. As soon as they did, the gateway winked shut.

The man spoke deeply. "I did not think it was possible to hold open the gateway for so long. We are among the stars. At least what was said in the Age of Legends has been proven true."

"About other worlds?" Elayne said. "Will you be able to get us all back?"

Min just stared. Then she saw Mat. "You rascal," she said, running up and giving him a hug. "You disappeared. Rand has given me enough to reassure me. At first, I thought you were dead."

Tuon spoke. "Bode? Is she well?" The natural question.

Min bowed imperceptibly. "Of course. Selucia protects her like a mother bear. And, with the news that Logain and Rand have given, your word is still law. There have been no...accidents."

Mat was glad. His daughter was safe. But he was also looking at the tall man. A single dragon fang hung in his left eye, but the man looking back through those eyes was his childhood friend. The man was also looking at him. For a moment, Mat thought he might walk away. Then he was running forward, catching Mat in a hug that nearly broke his ribs.

From somewhere, Perrin appeared. The three of them tangled arms around each other, and Mat finally felt all had been made right.

181818

Min looked up at the city. They had come out just at the gleaming gates, and the city rose in tier after tier above her. She was captivated at the design, and wondered why no city in her world had ever been built that way. She also did not relish climbing up all the stairs in her condition. There was more news to share, but she wanted to be alone with certain people to share it.

An older man was welcoming her, and Min looked at him. He wore no crown, but he still dominated the gathering. Somehow, Min knew he was of importance. Above his head was a wreath made of white flowers, indicating a peaceful death. She sighed. Rarely had she seen something happy.

"I am Denethor, Steward of Minis Tirith, and I welcome you to the City of the King. Welcome, lords and ladies from distant lands." Bowing slightly, he led them into the city. There was a great square beyond the gate, packed with people. A section had been roped off, however, with many carved chairs. Denethor obviously knew who belonged where, for soon, all the rulers were settled.

Min found her chair built for her height. Carved on the back was an arrow, pointing right, as though directed into the future. It was fitting, though she expected an eye, perhaps. Next to her, already seated, was a magnificent woman. Golden hair fell to her back, and her blue eyes were full of memory. Her voice was deep and kind.

"Welcome, Min, seer of futures," she said. Min started. How did the lady know her name? "I am Galadriel, Queen of Lothlorien."

"Your majesty," Min said. Above her head was a forest of trees. One by one, the trees disappeared, until none were left. It should have made Min sad, but it did not. Rather, it felt...right.

"I see what you see, for I also see what is to come." Galadriel's voice was sad, but then brightened. "For you, I give a message. Beware of those who say they love, for not all love who say they do."

Min scratched her head. A prophecy, a warning? It was clear the Golden Lady had not spoken all of her mind, but Min took it seriously. If this woman could see the future, she would be wise to heed. Carefully, she folded her hands, waiting.

She was fascinated by all the strange creatures. She knew Galadriel was an elf, one who would never die. She met Gloin, and liked his gruff but respectful manner, like many of the soldiers she had known. And men were men, whatever the world. She was glad she had not met any orcs or trolls, though. Or dragons, which were apparently real animals and not just symbols.

The great gates were open, but there was a barrier of wood laid across the entrance. The men of the North came first, thirty men in gray cloaks, taller than any she had seen before. Not even the Borderlanders had such height. They parted, and Aragorn walked forward slowly. His dark hair was parted, and he was dressed all in gray. With his smooth face and erect demeanor, he looked a king.

Denethor walked forward, and they met at the barrier. "Here one comes, bearing the claim to the crown." His voice was reluctant, but he spoke confidently. "Here is Aragorn, son of Arathorn, of the line of Isildur. He comes to sit in the throne of the king. Shall you have him to be your king?"

The crown erupted with cheers. Min smiled as the guard of the city took away the barrier. Denethor was saying something, and the cheers quieted. Now Denethor spoke to Aragorn. "The Steward begs leave to surrender his office."

Aragorn shook his head. "Your office shall last as long as my line endures, Denethor, son of Ecthelion. Do now your office!"

"Then I declare to you Aragorn, son of Arathorn, King of Gondor and Arnor, Heir to the Sceptre of Annuminas, and bearer of the Star of the North, Elessar of House Telcontar. Let him enter into the city!" Stepping aside, he let Aragorn in.

Aragorn bowed and entered the city. Gandalf and Frodo were waiting, the white-haired man holding a chest of carved black wood. Slowly he opened it, and lifted out a crown. A circle of silver and white, it had wings on either side, curving upward. It was beautiful and light. In the center, a white jewel caught the sun, reflecting it back in sparkles.

Aragorn reached for it, then withdrew. "Gandalf has been the bearer of much that has been done," he said. "And without Frodo, evil would have triumphed. I ask that Frodo bring the crown, and Gandalf put it on my head. For they paved the way for me to be king." And he bowed.

Min was astounded. Such humility! No one she had ever met carried such a meek demeanor. Even Rand had been hard. Aragorn carried images as well. Above his head was a dead white tree, bursting into bloom. Another happy image.

In wonder, she watched as the tiny man lifted the crown from its resting place, then brought it up to Gandalf. Gandalf walked over to Aragorn and gently placed the crown on his head.

"Now come the days of the king," he said. "May they be blessed!" And again, the cheers went up. Aragorn still waited, though, as though expecting something. Min wondered what it might be, but she did not have long to wait.

Two figures appeared in the gate. They looked like a father and a daughter. The father was stern, but above his head was an image of a ship, sailing toward the sun. The daughter was pale and lovely, with black hair and well-formed features. Above her head was the image of a laughing child, and Min understood.

Slowly, Aragorn walked toward the pair, for the first time looking nervous. But the tall figure hugged him tightly, then brought something out from his saddle roll that sparkled in the sun, a rod of ivory capped with gold. Min thought it had to be the scepter. Then he stepped back, leaving Aragorn alone with the girl. Or was she a girl? Though she looked young, she carried herself with the grace of an older woman.

She smiled as Aragorn took her in his arms and kissed her thoroughly. Min had no doubt her viewing would soon be fulfilled. Galadriel whispered to Min, "That is Elrond, Lord of Rivendell, and his daughter Arwen. They are elves, as I am, and she has given up the immortal life to marry the king."

Min's heart clenched. Aes Sedai married their Warders, and the practice was growing more common, but there was still heartbreak. She could not imagine Arwen's choice, or Elrond's decision to let her go. Still she smiled. All the viewings she had seen had been happy, but for Galadriel's, so much different than her own world, and she could not help her joy.

Hand in hand with Arwen, Aragorn greeted each of the visitors. When they reached Min, Aragorn said, "I have been told about you and your gift, but I do not ask what you see."

"It is happy," Min said, though low. Viewings, and sharings, were always private. "Around you, your majesty, I see a white tree in bloom. And above your lady, I see a laughing child. A boy."

Aragorn smiled. "It is good news." He did not ask for more, as many did. Instead, he merely walked on. Arwen lingered, then hugged Min tightly. Her own eyes sparkled.

"You have news of your own," she said. "A woman always knows."

Min nodded. "But it will be my time and place to share."

Arwen nodded and greeted Galadriel. "Grandmother," she said. "How stands the Golden Wood?" Min's mouth nearly dropped open. They looked nothing alike. She wanted to ask so many questions, but she held her silence. She knew there would be time for questions later, at the feast. She was still struck by the solemnity of the moment. Rand had told her this moment was the fulfillment of a thousand years of prophecy, and she felt the weight of all that had been accomplished.

She could at least stand. She stood slowly. Frodo, and three more like him, were approaching Aragorn. They made as though to bow, but Aragorn shook his head. "You bow to no one," he said. And he got down on his knees in front of them. A gasp rippled through the crowd, but Min had heard enough to know they deserved the honor. Slowly, she got down on her knees and dipped her head. She could hear all the nobles and kings doing so behind her. Even Gandalf did...the nearest thing to an Aes Sedai this world had, and still he bowed. Without being forced.

As she rose, she wondered if a little humility might not be in order for her world as well.

181818

Aviendha had been placed in front, next to the hobbits. They sat solemnly, though the younger two fidgeted a little. She wondered at them, and also why the oldest was missing a finger. Where was the Ring that was at the heart of all of this? But then she remembered that the Ring had been destroyed. Slowly, the pieces fell together, and she looked at them in a new light.

"You spat in Sightblinder's eye," she murmured. "And your lives were a dagger for his heart." She would hear the story later, she knew, but she knew enough to know they should be honored. That was why she was pleased when the oldest bore the crown, and when Aragorn bowed before them. She could not bow, not fully, but she bent as far as she could in honor of what they had done.

"Come to the hall for the feast," she heard. It was the old man, Gandalf.

She looked up, and then down at her chair. It made sense to have one, and it gave her the authority of a chief. Was she not, after all, the Roofmistress of Rhuidean, almost a chief in itself? Still, at times, she missed her feet and legs.

"I will wheel you," he said. "We can explore the city, and I can answer many of the questions I am sure you wish to know. I may have some as well. Though perhaps, you wish not. Some warriors miss the loss of their weapons, and are poor company." His eyes twinkled, and Aviendha knew no offense was meant.

"Master Gandalf, I have had a year to get used to this. And besides, it has brought me great ji. For in the battle that cost me my feet, I defeated a great enemy." She wondered how Graendal fared. She had begged to come, but for once, Aviendha did not want her service.

"Tell me about this ji," Gandalf said as he began to push her over the rocky cobblestones of the city. "Also tell me of your people. Perrin has told me some, but much he left unsaid."

So Aviendha did. Gandalf had a quick mind, and grasped the intricacies of her culture better than any wetlander. She suspected he was more than he appeared. Aragorn had called him a mover of deeds, and she asked her own questions of him, wondering about the history of the Ring and of the dark powers that he had fought. She listened, and was amazed. Everyone had won ji in the long war, but the hobbits especially. They had dared so much, confronting the Dark One on his own ground, and casting him down.

She was about to ask about the beliefs of Middle-Earth, but they had come out onto the seventh level, the highest point of the city. There was another square here, but the press was smaller, and was mostly servants and guards of the tower. In the center was a white tree, seeming to be dead. Next to it was a sapling, showing silver blossoms. Min, who had been walking with them since the fifth level, gasped and put a hand to her mouth.

"You have Avendesora, the Tree of Life," Gandalf said. "The White Tree of Gondor has a yet older history. For three ages the Trees have symblized life and light untroubled by darkness, and for ages they will symbolize the same."

Aviendha could certainly understand the symbolism. Avendesora, that Rand had burned in his struggle with Asmodean, had fully recovered. It seemed this tree would as well. Here, the stones were smooth, and the ground flat. The great prow of rock that cut the city in half had its top here, and she wheeled out toward the edge. Here, the wind was keen, fluttering the banners of the city, and she stopped short, respecting the drop toward the valley below.

The view was stunning. Below her, the city fell in its seven levels, and beyond that was the plain of Pelennor, stretching to the River. Spanning the river was the ruined city of Osgiliath, which would soon be rebuilt. Gandalf had told her that dwarves of every description had come to help restore the glory of Gondor, and she half-imagined she could hear their hammers. She wondered if Ogier might come as well.

Beyond the River was the hill-country of Ithilien, rising to the Mountains of Mordor. They had a blush of green, due to Rand's work, and soon, they would be covered with forests once more. Over the mountains, she could see an orange glow. Mount Doom had been a volcano before Sauron had come, and a volcano it would remain, spitting ash and molten rocks from its tall chimney. However, people would come to live around it and till the green things that were growing at the mouth of hell. Of that she was sure...for the same had happened at Shayol Ghul, and was happening at Dragonmount.

It was a beautiful sight, and she enjoyed it for several long moments before she turned and looked the other way. Across the lawn, the Tower of Guard rose like a white rod. Around it were some of the barracks for the Tower Guard, and the apartments where her friends had been staying. And the White Tree.

"I decided to gather you all here to honor you, kings and rulers from distant lands." Aragorn spoke, Arwen beside him. "You were taken from your own realms, and decided to help me in our struggle against the Dark Lord. I want to give gifts to you. And for you who did not know where your friends were, gifts for you as well."

"To Mat and Tuon, the rulers of the Seanchan, I give you the Palantir of Osgiliath." It had been recently found, miraculously overlooked in the wars that had swirled over the River. "As the largest kingdom, you deserve this honor. I would like to see what is happening in your world." Mat received it with honor, carrying it carefully in its silk wrappings.

"To Perrin and Faile, you have received mallorn seeds. But I would like to give you a treasure of the dwarves, a helmet of mithril. It will be the only piece of its kind in all of your world." It was a fine piece, and seemed to complement Faile's horn somehow. Aviendha was now curious about this metal. She would ask one of the dwarves later. Perrin nodded, holding the helm carefully under his arm.

"To Tam al'Thor, father of the Dragon, the hobbits came up with your gift." Pippin and Merry were rolling a barrel forward, and Sam was holding a bag of seeds. "They said you were interested in pipe-weed, so they brought you a barrel, and some seeds to plant." Tam laughed, and accepted the gift with a smile. Aviendha would ask for seeds in a few years, once Tam had his first crop. More than one chief enjoyed his pipe.

"To Thom and Moiraine, you received a book of poetry, and have composed the song of the Ring. I do not know what we can give, for you have given so much to us."

Moiraine smiled. "Once my sisters are done with their work, Thom and I will have the history and the landscape of every land and people in Middle-Earth, and that will be gift enough."

Aragorn frowned when he came to Teslyn. She had been whispering with Halbarad. "The Amyrlin has given me leave to remain in Middle-Earth, provided Halbarad visits my world at times. He has agreed. So we need no gift."

Aragorn shook his head. "My Red Sister, you were still part of the Fellowship. No. There is one thing I wish to give to you, the fighter of evil." He held out a twisted crown. "It was my feeling that you would stay. So I ask that you hold this in trust." Teslyn gasped and picked it up reverently. "You hold the symbol of victory."

Finally, he came to Loial. "And what would an Ogier ask from a king?"

Loial bowed. "Your majesty," he said. "The realms of men will grow. Remember the elves, and how they cared for the trees. Do not cut down Lorien. That will be gift enough for me and my people."

Aragorn nodded. "It has always been my intent to remember the Firstborn. It will be as you wish. And now for those left behind, while your friends fought here."

Aviendha wondered what her gift would be. She was not the first.

"To Elayne, the Queen of Andor, I give an estate in the north of Ithilien, for you and Galad to visit. Ithilien has been a refuge to the kings of Gondor since the realm has been established." Elayne smiled and promised to visit at least once each year.

"To Lan and Nynaeve, the dwarves have offered to help rebuild the Seven Towers, so long as Ogier are willing to come in return. It will be an experiment to see which are the better builders, and the two peoples can learn from each other."

Lan nodded. "I would like to see the little people at their work. Your offer is accepted." Nynaeve nodded.

"To the rulers of the White Tower and Black, Gandalf has a gift."

"The Elves are fading, and they have accepted their part in the Song," the wizard said. "As a result, they are no longer attached to their rings. Jahar already has the Ring of Fire." He stepped toward Cadsuane and pulled something from his robe. "And Galadriel has given up the Ring of Adamant. With the victory of Sauron, what was built with the elven rings fades." Aviendha watched as Gandalf passed over a glittering silver band. "Perhaps you can make something of them. If nothing else, they will be artifacts to study."

Cadsuane smiled. "We will receive this gift. I am sure many in the Tower will be interested in its study."

"The Asha'man will study their gift as well," Logain promised. "But what of the third?"

"I will soon pass over Sea," Elrond said slowly. "But my sons will remain. They have asked to keep my ring, and it will be an heirloom to them."

Logain nodded graciously, and Aragorn turned to Min. "For the seer of futures, a small treasure with which to build a future for herself." He handed over a small bag that clinked. "Some of the gold of Gondor. It is not much, but I believe you can make it multiply." Min received the bag with thanks. "Some of the coins are quite rare, and may also remind you of the past."

Now he was coming toward Aviendha. There was a small pot in his hands. "Perrin received mallorn seeds, but I am giving you something far more precious." Aviendha gasped. "Plant it beside your Tree of Life. Surely the Aiel, those formerly of the Way of the Leaf, deserve such a treasure."

Aviendha looked down at the silver leaves and vowed that it would be planted in a place of honor. "Perhaps I can return the favor, for you have given me great toh." She would ask the clan chiefs if a cutting from Avendesora could be spared.

"Finally, for the one once called the Dragon." Aragorn bowed slightly, and Rand bowed back. "This was taken from the bottom of the Long Lake, where Smaug the Terrible rests in a watery grave." Two dwarves came forward, bearing a small chest. Rand took it and opened it, revealing a necklace of teeth. "These are the teeth of a real dragon, for here, they were more than a symbol."

Rand laughed, loud and clear. "What a gift! I wish I could have given more in return." He dangled the teeth, which had been polished to a gleam, and set the necklace back in its chest, carefully closing the lid.

"You have helped make Mordor green, and have honored both Rohan and Frodo. It is enough, indeed it is more than we can repay. Now come, let us feast." Aviendha looked around, for the first time noticing the many servants putting out tables, groaning with a feast that made her mouth water.

She wheeled herself over to the table. There was meat and cheese, wine and ale and beer, fruit and vegetables, and even fish. Knowing about the feast, she had brought a small barrel of oosquai, and shared it after warning of its strength. All of them told stories, mingling freely all with each other, and she knew a partnership between two worlds had begun.

181818

Sam looked around at all the great lords and ladies. He had his gift from Galadriel, and was content. He actually felt very small. He was also sad. The Blue Lady had told them that their time in Middle-Earth was done, and that they needed to return to their own lands.

He didn't want them to go, even though he was beginning to feel a pull toward the Shire himself. He had made a good friend in Faile, and he knew the others well enough to feel lonely at the thought of their departure.

"I know, Sam," Frodo said. "But we will see them all again. It is not as though they are leaving forever. There is a bridge now."

"But they are all kings and lords," Sam said. "Will they even remember the little hobbits?"

"We will make sure you are not forgotten," Faile said. Her pregnancy was showing now, and Sam took it as a sign that the long journey in Mordor had not hurt her. "I will come back when the baby is born. After all, I did promise to visit the Shire."

"Aragorn is a king now," Tuon said. "The Seanchan will send ambassadors." She spoke like a queen, but there was a twinkle in her eye that showed it was not all business.

"I will not forget the halflings," Thom said, Moiraine beside him. "After all, your story will become popular, as popular as the tales of the Horn. Every city will hear of your bravery."

"I'm not any hero," Sam muttered, blushing. "It was Frodo who carried the Ring."

"But you carried him," Rand said. The tall man bent down and looked in Sam's eyes. "He would not have made it without you. Thom is right to include you." Sam was about to argue, but there was something about the man that made him hold his peace, a deep calm that made words unnecessary.

Servants had been piling the possessions and gifts of all the strangers onto a cart. As well as the gifts of Aragorn and Galadriel, there were clothes and gold. Sam smiled to see Bill hitched up to the cart. The pony had come with Elrond from Rivendell, and Sam walked over. Bill, as though sensing his mood, nuzzled him gently.

Perrin nodded at Sam over Bill's head. "We will make sure he gets back safe," he said. "Rand cannot keep the gateway open long enough for many servants to pass through."

Sam nodded and added a small box of his own to the pile, a small treasure he wanted the Lady Faile to have.

Then everyone was saying their goodbyes. Everyone was embracing everyone else. Sam got in his own hugs.

Then it was time. All those who could wield magic joined forces, and Sam felt a shiver pass over him at the unimaginable feat that was about to happen. Rand stood behind them, as though to lend strength, although, from what Sam understood, he had no magic of his own. There was a tear, and through the hole that was revealed was a small cottage, next to a small garden and field. All around were rolling hills covered with thin grass. A cold wind blew through, and Sam shivered. In their world, it was winter, or close.

One by one, the strangers passed through. Last was Rand, leading Bill. As soon as they passed through, all was silent, then the split closed with a boom.

"They have gone," Aragorn said. "We feasted them, as we ought. And honored them." It seemed like a dream somehow, but Teslyn was still there to make it real, still holding the crown of the Witch-King.

"Will we see them again?" Legolas asked.

"We will. Sooner or later, we will. And I think sooner. They have all promised to return."

 **A/N: So it ends, but for a small epilogue. Aragorn got honored, and gave honor in return. I thought about every ruler from Randland coming, but that would have been overkill. I think it was right for only a few to come.**

 **I have set up some things in this chapter for the sequel. For example, the gifts are important. Some might ask if Aragorn would really give up a Palantir, or the elves their rings. I would imagine Aragorn might want to keep watch on kingdoms that could easily cross the bridge to invade. As for the Rings, the book makes clear that with the destruction of the One Ring, the elven rings became no more than pretty jewelry.**

 **Sam's gift will be revealed in the sequel. I tried to make all of the gifts fit their recipients, as well as being practical. I think they will all be appreciated. And I had to get in the joke about the Dragon vs a real dragon. I mean...what can you give someone who already has everything?**

 **Min's "condition" should be obvious. That is also important for the future.**


	30. Chapter 30- Epilogue

Moghedian scrubbed at the dishes, furious. She was cleaning up after her owner. Her owner.

She was a slave.

Not even Egwene had treated her like a slave. Yes, she had been harsh and stern, as an Amyrlin should be, but she was still treated like her own person. These Seanchan...she had tried everything, apart of seizing the Power. The pain she had felt from the mindtrap was nothing compared to that pain.

Manipulation had not worked. Promises of power had not worked. The Seanchan were divided. Why couldn't she find an opening? She had threatened. But without the Dark One, she was only one damane among many. She thought the World of Dreams might have had an opening, and there, at last, she had found promise. Many of the Seanchan had...ambitions. She had been careful, slowly adding to their dreams, showing a woman of power who could help them, and then going quickly back to natural sleep, lest a dreamwalker find her.

All she could hope was that one day, her efforts would bear fruit. Then had come the news that the Prince of the Ravens and the Empress had disappeared. The Seekers had turned Ebou Dar upside down in their attempt to find out how it had happened, and the Aes Sedai that had been staying in the palace had gone to meet with the rest of the Tower.

Moghedian had snorted at that. The Aes Sedai were children playing with fire. Most likely, someone had tried a weave that had backfired, and the Tower was covering it up. She was no fool. She had seen how the pretend Amyrlin had walked when she was leading the rebel army. She was afraid of others finding out her secrets. She would have split the Tower like a rotten fruit, had she not been summoned to the Pit of Doom.

She touched the mindtrap that still hung on a hook in her kennel. With the Dark One locked away and the rest of the Forsaken dead, it was no more than jewelry now. She had still fought to keep it, and her owner had allowed it. She looked at it daily for strength, fueling her hatred with the thought of her shame.

One day, the collar would be unlocked. Her owner was one with ambitions. When she was free, she would teach them all. She would become an Empress, and all would fall at her feet. Then...with her army of damane, she would level the White Tower and raise her own.

She waited as she heard footsteps approach her kennel. Her owner, an older, sharp-faced woman, approached, carrying the evening meal. One thing she could say was that she was fed well.

"You were a good damane today," the older woman said. "You have always been a good damane, one of the best I have ever trained. I would almost trust you to obey me without the leash, though, of course, that is forbidden."

Moghedian wanted to smile. Of course, she would not. "The Spider lives to obey," she said. "The Spider wants the collar." She felt sick, saying those words. She wanted to scream the opposite, but she would not. Could not. She had to play her part just a little longer. Inwardly, though, she smiled. A little longer, and she would be free.

 **A/N: Nothing like ending on an ominous note.**

 **Dreaming has nothing to do with the Power. The WoT clearly states that. Moghedian can do what she does, even wearing the collar. Some might contrast Egwene's behavior with Moghedian's in the same situation. Egwene was a teenager, quite young and naive. Moghedian is a mature woman who had suffered almost the very worst a woman can experience (it's implied the mindtrap was not the worst of her problems). And she is a plotter. She can wait her chance.**

 **Of course, I might be colored by the fact Moghedian is my favorite Forsaken.**

 **I need to plot out the sequel a little. So expect a while before the next installment.**

 **Thanks to Swirlspot for helping to push me along, and for all the others who have given good suggestions and comments. I'll do my best to keep improving, as I plan to keep writing fanfiction for a good long while.**


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